Beneath The Sky
by WaltzThroughTheForest
Summary: Odahviing fell prey to a mad wizard with an unheard of spell. It stripped him of his power, his strength - his very being. No longer was he Dovah - but Dovahkiin. DragonbornxOdahviing
1. Chapter 1

_**Beneath The Sky**_

_Chapter 1_

The chains rattled loudly as the red dragon slammed against his bonds. Oh, what a trick had forced him here!

His eyes fell upon the ill-fated Dovahkiin. Had she not been strong enough to defeat Alduin? And yet this one wizard was able to capture her. He tortured her for days. Her skin was covered in burns and cuts and she was dripping with water. He hurt her until she was delusional, impressionable – she believed the wizard when he said shouting for a dragon would save her.

And so she screamed his name with every force in her soul. It took the final resources of her energy and sent her into unconsciousness. He had been her last hope.

Odahviing heard her desperate call and knew she was in trouble. He had vowed to assist her and he flew as fast as he could into the high-ceilinged cave – right into the trap by the mad wizard.

The wizard had explained what he did to her while he pulled scales and extracted blood. Something horrible was happening, the dragon knew.

"Now, hold still," the wizard said. "I've spent quite a bit of time perfecting this spell – it will go best if you stop struggling."

Needless to say, Odahviing only struggled more.

The wizard began chanting unrecognizable words. Instantly, pain ripped through the body of the dragon. He felt as though his body was being torn to shreds. He let loose a horrible roar – before he fell deep into unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N: Because we don't have enough weird ships.  
**

**This was pretty shocking even to me. I was just watching Odahviing talk to the Dragonborn at the Throat of the World. And then this appeared in my twisted mind.**

**I've come to the conclusion that I ship the Dragonborn (no specific race or gender) with everything that breathes. Well, at least everything that has a name and is mildly important.**

**I'm sorry for the short chapter. Hopefully, future chapters will be longer. Reviewing encourages me to update, because it lets me know people are reading and (hopefully) enjoying my story.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Beneath The Sky**_

_Chapter 2_

Odahviing opened his eyes slowly to catch sight of a stone ceiling. He knew it wasn't right. Aside from the fact that he couldn't fit inside a building, he also couldn't see as much as he should have. It was as though his peripheral vision had been shortened. Not to mention, he was comfortably lying on his back, which, as you may know, is extraordinarily _uncomfortable_ for a dragon.

He lifted his hand and stared at it for a good long time. He was certain it had scales on it just yesterday. He stared down at his body. It was clothed in a robe the color of his scales. It was thin, but strong.

The knowledge of what had happened came crashing down and he found himself staring at the ceiling once more.

_Weak._

The word resounded in his head.

Painfully, he recalled the Dovahkiin. Were they still in the mad wizard's grasp?

He pushed himself up and caught sight of that damnable mage – but not the mad one. This was the other one that had tried to run tests on him.

"Lay back down. You might hurt yourself," the mage began.

"Did you have something to do with this?!" Odahviing snarled. He charged at the mage and made to grasp his throat. The movement came naturally to him.

The mage murmured something unidentifiable. Calm washed over Odahviing in a violent wave. He fell and the mage pushed him down the rest of the way.

"My name is Farengar," the mage explained. "You're safe now."

"Where is the Dragonborn?" Odahviing managed to ask.

The mage hesitated. "She is in the Temple of Kynareth. The healers are working on her. They told me she still lives."

Odahviing took a little longer than he should have to absorb this information_. _The Dovahkiin was not yet dead. "What happened?" he asked.

The mage studied him for a minute. "The Jarl was alerted of a mage doing dangerous experiments in a cave," he explained slowly. "When the Dragonborn came to him and offered her assistance, he sent her there. Several days passed but she did not return. The Jarl gathered several soldiers and we charged the cave. You and the Dragonborn were both unconscious, bound in separate cages."

"And the wizard?"

The mage shifted uncomfortably. "He escaped. We don't know where he is."

Odahviing stared at him. That monster was still out there. The Dragonborn was not yet safe.

"What can you tell us about what happened?" the mage asked quietly.

The cloudy haze that had covered Odahviing finally slipped away from him. He sat up. He knew that if he told the truth, he would be subject to examinations that were far from comfortable and he wasn't sure he could defend himself in this form. "I know nothing of that mage. I need to see the Dragonborn."

Farengar hesitated. "How do you know her?"

Odahviing conducted his lie quickly. "She is very famous, is she not? I've met her before. Take me to her. Now."

The mage consented. They found the Dragonborn in a temple, surrounded by the moans of the injured and sick. He saw her, laid out on a bed that was almost reminiscent of an altar. There were several healers stranding around her, casting bright magic over her. The woman's dark auburn hair was matted and dirty as though they hadn't yet had time to even think about it. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, and her face was impassive in sleep despite the pain. She had deep gashes all about her skin, most of which were still leaking blood. Several of the burns seemed slightly faded, but the largest was still horrible. It stretched over her entire stomach, black like wood that was tossed in the fire. He knew the healers couldn't fix it – not a burn that deep. He knew it would take magic far more ancient than any book.

His fists were starting to shake at the idea of how badly she had been hurt. He heard Farengar approach him, heard him start to whisper the words that would cloud his thinking. He turned around and hit the mage in the head with his fist. The mage fell. The priestesses and guards started shouting, and chaos reigned all around.

Time for him slowed as his mind raced.

He stared at the woman he had promised to serve when she defeated the eldest dragon. She was so utterly young – a breath of life even by human standards. He doubted she'd lived more than two decades. She was just a babe.

If he was a dragon, he could save her. An ancient shout – one meant to heal instead of destroy. The shout used the dovah's strength and granted it to the injured, healing their every wound.

But in this weak form, how could he shout?

Inside of him, something was stirring – the one thing that the wizard couldn't rip from his being. His soul was still intact.

His thu'um gathered deep within him, roaring like the dragon he was. He released it and it ripped out of his throat.

_"Aaz ofan haas!"_

He saw the gashes on her body close up, and the burns – even the greatest – faded and left nothing but scarred skin. His energy siphoned off to her, and for a moment he could _feel _her soul grasping onto his desperately, taking heart and finding a place to stand.

His knees gave way and darkness claimed him.

XxXxXxX

Emlen pushed past the haze of darkness that shrouded her, searching for the shouting that she could just barely hear.

The memory of the horrendous mage came tumbling back into her mind. She let out a cry. He still had her, she knew. He said Odahviing would save her. "Let me go!" she cried out weakly, unable to open her eyes for fear of seeing him looming over her, threatening her. "Odahviing, please!"

The wizard was reaching for her – she could feel him. He was whispering in her ear again.

She was a horrible person. That's why he had to do this. It was her fault. It was all her fault.

She screamed and brought her hands up to her eyes, turning her body and curling in on herself.

Wasn't the wizard a liar? Didn't she tell him he was? But hadn't he always been right?

"Odahviing, please help me!" Hadn't he promised he would come?

She heard someone say her name, in a far off land. It wasn't the wizard. "Odahviing!" she cried out once more.

"Emlen! Emlen, listen to me."

She knew that voice. She searched for him, pushing past the cloudy curtain, tearing through the flimsy surface of the water that she was drowning in. "Balgruuf," she managed and she opened her eyes.

He was looking at her and he grasped both of her hands in his. "You're safe now, Emlen. He can't hurt you now."

Emlen let out another sob and he sat down beside her and pulled her close to him. She clung to him and wept while he rubbed her arms and whispered comforting words to her. "I am so sorry I sent you there, Emlen."

She clutched him tighter. "I was supposed to be strong," she whispered.

"You are strong," he assured her gently. She let him comfort her, and remained wrapped up in his arms for several minutes.

Her eyes eventually fell upon a man lying on the floor. He wore a dark red robe made of what looked like silk. She couldn't tell how old he was – he could have been twenty-five or fifty. His dark hair fell to his shoulders. His face was thin but strongly defined with high cheekbones and a sharp nose. She wasn't sure what race he was. "Who is he?" she heard herself asking.

"We aren't sure," Balgruuf answered carefully. "We found him with you. He wanted to see you, but wouldn't say why – he injured Farengar, and then…"

She looked at the Jarl. "And then what?"

"He shouted. I'd never heard it before, but the shout healed you. The priestess hadn't thought you were even going to survive."

She stared at Balgruuf. "Healed me? What…what happened?"

He stared at her, worry filling his eyes. "Emlen? The mage? He almost killed you."

She blinked. "Oh. Well, yes. But what are you talking about?"

Balgruuf shook his head. "You had a lot of deep cuts and burns, and the healers weren't much help. They'd been trying to stop your bleeding for hours. That man used a shout on you, and healed you instantly."

Emlen's brow furrowed. She tried to remember having cuts and burns. Hadn't the mage used a dagger? She searched desperately for the memory. It was oddly foggy. Hadn't he dipped the knife in something? Hadn't he said it would never heal?

Her pupils dilated as her mind was filled with the memory of the bright fire that seared against her skin. She could see the fire an inch from her, and she watched as her skin started to bubble up like boiling water. She began to scream. The mage was laughing.

"Emlen! EMLEN!"

Emlen came barreling back into the present, on her knees on the ground, Balgruuf's arms supporting her. He was the only reason she hadn't fell on her face. Her screams ceased, but her breath was coming too fast.

The Priestess of Kynareth knelt in front of her and took her face in her hands, whispering an incantation. Emlen shuddered as calm overtook her but it wasn't real – it was an illusion spell. She found herself trying to fight it. The priestess jerked back as though burned.

She pushed out of Balgruuf's arms and fell forward on her hands. She turned her face to the fallen man. There was something about him. Just seeing him was enough to allow her to calm her breathing. She crawled to him and searched for his heartbeat, letting her hand feel his chest and the silk fabric over it. The steady pounding beneath her fingertips was enough to bring peace to her soul. This was the one. He was the one supposed to save her.

She let herself fall and lay beside him, her head on his shoulder. She wore a thin robe the priestesses must have put on her, and she could easily feel his body heat permeating it. He was very warm.

Sleep claimed her sweetly, and she didn't have any nightmares.

* * *

**A/N: I got some books on writing from the library. I learned some stuff. Confirmed some of my previous thoughts. So I decided to update a little earlier than planned.**

**I'm really proud of this chapter, which means you need to assault it and point out every single flaw you see. Can let myself get comfortable, can I? Any criticism (or praise, for that matter) is welcome. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Odahviing awoke but did not open his eyes and for a moment he didn't remember all that had happened. He _was_ certain something was wrong – but he didn't know quite what. His body felt strange, and he felt extraordinarily light, like air.

He opened his eyes when he realized he was on his back, and then he sat up quickly. An odd weight that had been on his shoulder fell off. He looked down to see the Dragonborn a mess on the floor. He tried to keep himself calm as he noted that he was in a human form.

It wasn't right. He'd done horrible things, but surely he didn't deserve this.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He had to stay calm and he could. Maybe if he was younger, he would have lost his head. But he was very old.

"Who are you?"

He heard the words, but it took him a moment to register that anyone had spoken at all. He turned his eyes towards a middle-aged man with blonde hair, and a golden circlet that adorned his head. His eyes were hard and demanding. Odahviing recognized him – the Jarl of Whiterun.

He didn't answer the poised man, but rather stood and looked down at the Dragonborn.

She was abnormally frail in this state. He skin was hopelessly pale and she was thinner than he remembered. The first time he had seen her, she had stood tall and strong and looked him – a dragon – right in the eye.

_Odahviing shifted in the great chain. "Caught like a bear in a trap!" he admitted, when faced with the triumphant Dovahkiin._

_ She had smirked. "Afraid so, big guy. And you're not getting out unless you cooperate!"_

_ She distinctly reminded him of a petulant child, and looking her over, he realized that was exactly what she was. She was just a girl, caught up in something much, much bigger than herself. "Cooperate how, Dovahkiin?" he asked, finding himself amused by the child – which was rather inappropriate, regarding his situation._

_ She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. "Where is Alduin?"_

_ She asked it so seriously, he wanted to laugh. She was just a girl, too young to be making demands of thousand-year-old dragons! But he remembered his undignified position, and he did not denounce her in such a way. "You expect me to betray him?"_

_ She glared at him. "I am far more powerful than that dragon – it would be more advantageous for you to be on my side."_

_ He considered this. "And how do I know you won't simply kill me in this degrading trap the moment I tell you?"_

_ He knew she was old enough to have some sense of honor because she looked sincerely offended. "I wouldn't," she stammered out as though she wasn't sure how to voice her argument. "To kill an enemy like this would make me worse than Alduin – and I'm not!"_

_ He made a slight agreeing sound so as to pacify her before she continued blubbering until she was more humiliated than he. "No, the honorable Dovahkiin would not do such a thing… But why should I tell you?"_

_ She seemed to recover her shock and raised her eyebrows. "Because I'm not releasing you until you do."_

_ "I will acknowledge, Dovah, that your Voice has impressed me…Alduin resides not in this world, but in Sovngarde – and he can only be reached through a place called Skuldafn Temple." Perhaps he shouldn't have given it over so easily – but her innocence was something to contend with. Certainly, she had spilled a heavy share of blood – but she was so _childlike_._

_ She looked surprised. "Skuldafn Temple? All right."_

_ He studied her. "And will you release me?"_

_ She hesitated. "If you promise to serve me."_

_ He shifted his body and shuddered his wings in discomfort of his bonds. "No, not now. But if you defeat Alduin, then we shall see."_

_ She crossed her arms, an uncertain look on her face. "I don't know…"_

_ "Ah, yes!" he said as he recalled the catch. "I am afraid Skuldafn cannot be reached by one without _wings._"_

_ She stepped back in surprise. "Oh. You're quite certain?"_

_ He nodded gravely._

_ "Well, then," she said, a little awkwardly. "I will release you on the condition you take me to Skuldafn."_

_ "Yes," he agreed. "I will take you – but I warn you…to fly over the skies like this will only increase your jealousy of the Dovah."_

_ She gave a little shrug. "I don't mind being beneath the sky. Let's go."_

_ He actually chuckled this time. "Perhaps, Dovahkiin, it would help if you released me."_

_ She blushed a bright red, but smiled slightly. "Yeah, I'll just go do that…"_

_ He watched her go, noting her smile. Dragons cannot quite smile._

_ At that moment, Farengar had come over, suggesting the extraction of his scales and blood and the idea of the invasion was so disturbing that Odahviing released a breath of fire. The mage backed up right away. It was only a moment later that the trap lifted. He ruffled his wings, and moved his great body, not much caring what he hit with his tail. When he reached the front of the balcony, he stretched his wings out, feeling the wind touch them gently. He could have taken off and never returned, but he always keeps his promises._

_ Aside from that, the Dovahkiin intrigued him._

_ She came up beside him and he studied her. "Are you ready, child?"_

_ "I'm not a child," she reacted instantly, sounding more surprised than offended._

_ He chuckled. "Maybe not, but you are much, much younger than me."_

_ She gave a noncommittal shrug and approached him until she was very close. She placed a hand on his neck. "I won't hurt you?"_

_ "I am very strong." He was touched by her concern._

_ She nodded and climbed up on his neck and grasped his horns. "Try not to throw me off."_

_ He took a few steps forward. "Hold on tightly – I would hate for you to die before you even reached the temple."_

_ He felt her knees tighten, but he could sense her fear. "All young Dovah must take flight sometime," he rumbled and then he spread his wings and launched off._

_ He expected to hear a scream but was surprised by her laughter. "This is amazing!" she cried out, truly awed._

_ He laughed and flew and could feel her joy. But the flight ended, as he knew it would. Skuldafn lingered in the distance and they both tensed. He landed carefully. "This is as far as I dare go."_

_ "Thanks," she said, and slid off his back. "Know what I'll be expecting?"_

_ "Dragons and draugr," he warned. "And there will be many of them. One way or another, you're going to Sovngarde today."_

_ She let out a laugh. "One way or another." She didn't seem scared. "I've battled draugr and dragons before."_

_ "Not this many, not all at once," he admitted gravely. "I must leave you now."_

_ She turned to glance at him. "Thank you, Odahviing," she said quietly. Then she faced the temple and pulled out her bow. He saw her duck and creep behind a wall. She disappeared into the shadows and he couldn't see her any longer, so he took flight and left._

And the child fought her way through every single draugr and went on to face Alduin himself.

She returned at Monahven – the Throat of the World. She had been battle-weary but she stood strong. She looked brave, and maybe a little older than he remembered. She had spoken to Paarthurnax and then he had landed.

_"Dovah," he acknowledged her. She smiled at him. "You have proven yourself stronger than Alduin."_

_ "Will you serve me?" she asked, sounding confident of herself._

_ He considered her. "You may call upon me – I will come if I can."_

_ "If you can?" she asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice._

_ He would have smiled. "I swear I will _always _come to you, Dovahkiin, if that is what you wish. I will rip off the ceilings of ruins to reach you if I must!" His voice teased, but he found himself meaning it. He wanted her to stay alive a little longer. He would destroy a ruin to save the life of this innocent._

_ "Good." Bravely, she reached forward with her hand and laid it on his snout. "I'll try to avoid calling for you in any caves."_

He had promised he would come – and he did, the few times she called for him. But this time, when she needed him most, she had not called. Not until it was too late. And when he got there, he failed. He didn't save her.

It was his job to protect her now.

He bent over and scooped her up in his arms, grateful he was strong enough to hold her – and understand how.

The Jarl stood. "And what do you think you're doing?"

"Taking her wherever I can keep her safe," he responded instantly, his voice daring the Jarl to argue.

The man glared at him for a long moment, before seeming to come to a decision. "She has a home here in Whiterun. Her housecarl can take you to it."

A woman stood from where she had been sitting up against the wall of the temple. Her dark eyes were grave. She had dark brown hair that fell just to her shoulders and she wore heavy steel armor. A shield was clutched in her hand and a sword was sheathed on her belt. She looked him over. She was older than the Dragonborn, maybe in her thirties. "Come on."

He followed her out into the streets where the sun was just slipping into the horizon. The guards stared at him but no one else was about.

The house was small and quaint, nothing special amidst the rest of the buildings. He felt his hair brush against the top of the door and he cringed at the foreign feeling.

A fire pit was situated four feet from the entrance, filled with only burnt out wood. An empty pot hung over it. The rest of the room was crowded with shelves and a large table. There were a lot of books on every shelf, spilling out onto the table and even a few onto the floor. On the wall were several red plaques, each with a sword or axe mounted on them.

The woman headed up a thin staircase. He stared at it a little uncomfortably, unsure if he would fall going up it, especially with the weight in his arms. He was finding that if he didn't think about the human motions too much, they just came – however, if he did think about the change, he was at risk of falling right over. Bravely, he climbed the steps, one barefoot in front of the other and luckily managed not to fall. He headed through the small hallway and into the bedroom where the woman was pulling back the fur blankets. He laid down the Dragonborn, and the woman put a thin blanket over her.

"Who are you?" he asked the woman.

She studied him. "Her housecarl, Lydia. It…it was my job to protect her."

Her voice came out weak. Her eyes were heartbroken. "Did she ask you to come with her?" he asked.

"No," she answered quietly. "She thought she could handle herself, and she wanted to sneak in. I'm not much for sneaking."

He nodded slowly. "Then it isn't your fault she got hurt. You weren't there – you had no way of knowing she was injured."

She looked down. "I should have gone after her when she didn't come back the first day."

He looked down at the sleeping girl. "It was more my job to protect her than yours," he said quietly.

The woman frowned. "Why? Who are you to her?"

He thought about the question for a long moment. "I promised to serve her some time ago. She called for me, and I wasn't able to save her."

Lydia stared at him. "Called for you? That doesn't make any sense…"

Odahviing shook his head. "We failed to keep her safe – we need to help her now. Can you get something for her to eat? She'll wake soon and I'm sure she'll be hungry."

She left and he pulled a chair from the table in the corner of the room and situated himself next to her. Hesitantly, he brought his hand forward to touch her face. The skin was warm and soft. He raised his eyebrows and shifted to feel his own face. His skin was rougher than hers. He dropped his hand, disturbed at the foreign feeling.

Carefully, he touched her again and let himself run his fingers over her cheekbones, her jaw, her closed eyelids. Somewhere downstairs, he heard the fire start to crackle. The sound was familiar to him, something normal in a situation that wasn't normal at all.

He closed his eyes, and unconsciously brought his hands up to his face, rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. And then he jerked his hands back and stared at them. Now _that _was wrong.

A small murmur of a noise sounded and he dropped his hands to stare at the Dragonborn. Her head shifted and her arms pushed out in front of her – stretching, he realized. Her limbs relaxed and she was still before her eyes blinked open.

He watched her as she looked around, and her eyes were confused. Abruptly, they filled with panic and she sat up, starting to hyperventilate.

He instinctively brought his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back down, and she didn't fight him. "It's all right," he assured her and she seemed to calm.

She stared at him for a long moment. "I know you," she said weakly.

He frowned but at that moment, Lydia entered the room.

The Dragonborn sat up again. "Lydia!"

The older woman hurried forward and sat beside her. She brushed her dirty hair away from her face in a strangely heartfelt way. "How do you feel, Emlen?" she asked her, her voice quiet and soothing as though she spoke to an injured animal.

_Emlen. _Odahviing registered the name and realized he had never quite attached it to the Dragonborn before.

Emlen seemed confused. "I…I'm not sure."

Lydia squeezed her shoulder. "You've been through a lot – you need to rest. Go on, lay back."

Emlen looked as though she might argue, but Lydia pushed her down.

Odahviing realized that Lydia was being extraordinarily mother-like. He was reminded of a she-wolf calming a pup frightened by thunder.

Emlen seemed to respond well to her, and Lydia managed to coax her into telling how she felt.

"Oh, my stomach doesn't hurt….That doesn't hurt either….I suppose I'm a little hungry…."

Odahviing shook his head. He hadn't been prepared for this – he hadn't known she'd gone mad. He should have. She'd been through something horrible.

Her physical health seemed to be just fine, however. She ate all of the apple cabbage soup that Lydia gave her.

Eventually, she seemed to reach a mild amount of sanity. She, at the very least, could understand what they asked her and respond accordingly. Lydia left the room and she turned her eyes on Odahviing.

"I know you – I'm sure of it," she insisted. Hesitantly, he nodded. "Were you hurt by him too?" she asked, sounding scared.

He shrugged slightly but dropped his shoulders when he thought about the movement. "The mage used a spell…Emlen. He changed me."

She stared at him for a long time. "What's your name?"

The shame of what he was – how much weaker he had become – made him both furious and very, very broken. He did not answer her but stared at the floor.

The girl reached over and touched the skin on his cheek - he looked at her, the feeling foreign. His scales were not so sensitive. "Odahviing?" she asked, so quietly he barely heard her.

"I came when you called," he answered solemnly. She began to cry.

"I'm so sorry," she said weakly.

"It's not your fault – of course, it's not your fault," he tried to assure her.

It took a while, but she finally steadied her breathing and stemmed her tears. "You…are you adjusting okay?"

He made a noncommittal noise. "Well enough, I suppose. Not too much trouble in this damn form anyway."

She made a tiny laugh, though it sounded a little hysterical. "The mage…he's dead, right?"

Odahviing hesitated and it was enough to send the child into a panic. She pushed out of the bed and stumbled. "No! He has to be dead! Balgruuf killed him! I know he did!"

He was about to move to comfort her, but Lydia came in and beat him to the chase. She coaxed a shaking Emlen back to the bed and sat her down. She breathed deeply. Odahviing noticed she started to finger the robe she was in, as though nervous.

She suddenly looked at Lydia with urgency in her eyes. "Where's my armor?"

Lydia blinked. "I – you weren't in it when we found you."

Emlen stared at her, but then her eyes unfocused. She collapsed. Lydia just barely managed to catch her. She began to shudder. "He took it from me. He took my damn armor off and left me in my chemise…and damn it…I know it's over…I'm not getting out…He's going to kill me…"

She was starting to shake violently as she slipped into the intense memory. "Emlen!" Lydia shouted, giving her a shake.

Odahviing came over to her and grasped her shoulders. "Emlen," he commanded and she met his eyes. Her shaking calmed and she managed to breathe again.

"I'm sorry," she muttered shamefully.

Odahviing was about to answer that she shouldn't be, but Lydia responded faster. She pulled Emlen up by her arms and told her, "You've been through a lot. Stay focused and you'll be fine."

Emlen nodded and sat a little straighter. Odahviing noted that she seemed to do better when treated normally. She brought her hand up to her hair, and then curled her nose in disgust. "Lydia, can you go fill a bowl with water so I can get my hair clean?"

"I'll be right back," Lydia assured her, and went downstairs.

Emlen stood and looked at Odahviing and studied him. He stared right on back. She looked away first. "I have to go back and get my armor."

Odahviing raised his eyebrows. "You're not going back there."

"I'll do whatever the hell I want!" she snapped in response.

"Look at you, woman!" he snarled back and gestured to her thin robe.

She looked as though she might slap him. "I've got more armor!" She crossed her arms. "Besides, the armor he took from me isn't replaceable. I mean, you can't just go and buy it at the local blacksmith, and you sure as hell can't smith it yourself."

She turned around and opened the chest that was pushed up against the wall. He came to have a look and was shocked to see it was much bigger on the inside then the outside. It was filled with random trinkets, dragon bones and scales (he cringed), several weapons, and quite a bit of armor.

"What enchantment have you used on that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's a pretty basic lengthening charm. Standard on all chests, and many bags…"

She rummaged around inside, several times wincing as though she struck her hand on a sword or sharp edge of armor. She finally pulled out a deep black set of armor, with matching boots and gauntlets. "Ebony armor," she explained. "Some of the best."

She pushed it towards him. "I hope you can figure out how to put it on. You can change in Lydia's room."

He raised his eyebrows. "If it's the best, why aren't you wearing it?"

"It's heavy – I only wear light."

He stared at her blankly, and she frowned. "I suppose you have a lot to learn, don't you? Heavy and light armor are exactly what they sound like. Heavy armor uses something hard light steel, or in this case ebony. It'll protect you more, at the expense of ease of movement and sound. Light armor is usually made of cloth and gives you plenty of movement, and silence, at the expense of full protection."

She pulled out armor made out of what looked like leather, covered with straps and a lot of pockets. "I don't like to wear this, seeing as how it's kind of suspicious. But my Shrouded Armor is worse, so it'll have to do. I could always just say I got it off of a skeleton…"

"Why is it suspicious?"

"It's Thieves Guild Armor."

He stared at her. "You're a thief?"

She shrugged. "Not the worst I am."

He didn't entirely want to know what was worse so he took the armor she gave him and went across the hall to change.

XxXxXxX

Emlen gratefully accepted Lydia's help in getting her hair clean. They had to slice through several tangles with a dagger, but eventually made it presentable again. She consented to allow Lydia to put it in a side braid.

She pulled the armor on methodically, trying to avoid looking at her scarred stomach. "Where are you going?" Lydia asked.

Emlen was hesitant to tell her. The first time they had met, the woman had seemed weary of her. Emlen wasn't sure why. She supposed being the Dragonborn was ought to frighten a few people. But eventually, the woman revealed an oddly caring nature. She would always keep Emlen clean and sturdy and safe from falling on the road. She'd make her eat, and keep herself hydrated. And then she would stand beside her and fight every battle they encountered and let her stand her own.

Emlen had enjoyed the time they had spent together, but eventually, she found herself drifting towards a more silent type of warfare. It had been Lydia who gently suggested she returned to the house in Whiterun, because she hadn't been much help when Emlen had tried to snipe off enemies with her bow. Emlen hadn't wanted to ask it of her, but Lydia didn't seem to mind. She told her to take care of herself and to check in whenever she came to Whiterun, and then she left.

Now, Emlen was grateful for her mothering nature. She couldn't keep her thoughts straight, and she needed something steady. "I'm going back to the cave, Lydia," she confessed.

"Then I'm coming with you," Lydia answered instantly.

Emlen knew it was selfish – if the mage was there, they'd all be in trouble. But she was really grateful, because she wasn't sure she could do it alone, and she wasn't sure if Odahviing would be able to swing a sword. "Thank you," she said quietly, earnestly.

"I won't let you be hurt again," she promised.

Emlen nodded and then headed out into the hallway. Odahviing had just came out of the room, and had the armor on mostly right. "I'm impressed," she admitted. She adjusted a few straps a little self-consciously and then led him downstairs.

"Pick a weapon," she said, gesturing towards the plaques on the wall. He studied the weapons for a long moment and then wrapped his fingers around the hilt of an ebony greatsword. "Good choice," she said approvingly. She scanned the room. "Lydia, what did I do with my Nightingale bow?"

Lydia chuckled and reached under the table to pull out an intricate black bow. Emlen laughed a little awkwardly and then took the weapon. "I'm going after my Nightingale armor – it's my best. Of course, my ebony bow is better than this but I suppose he took that too…"

She shrugged as though she didn't care, but she fought off an onslaught of violent thoughts. "I'll have to buy some more arrows at The Drunken Huntsman. And see if you can swing that sword," she nodded towards Odahviing.

"You haven't told me your name," Lydia spoke up, speaking to the man.

Odahviing sent her a glare that clearly meant, _it's none of your business._

Emlen found an answer easily. "Hunter. His name is Hunter."

Lydia seemed pacified and left through the door. Odahviing grasped her shoulder before she could continue. "Hunter?"

Emlen shrugged. "Your name means Winged Snow Hunter," she explained, and then ducked out the door before he could complain.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

"It's to the northwest – we just follow the road for a while," Emlen explained to Lydia, a little wearily. She wiped her palms of nervous sweat and they set off. She was aware of her every movement, the armor shifting agaist her, the heavy clanking of Lydia and Odahviing's armor. She was so scared of where they were headed, of what this road led her to, she was beginning to feel faint.

She took a deep breath and walked beside Odahviing, and then kind of tugged him so they both fell back. Lydia didn't glance back, though Emlen was sure she heard them slow down. The older woman seemed to understand their need for privacy.

"So, er, Hunter," she said, half teasing. She took a glance at his unamused eyes and looked away quickly. His damn eyes! They were dark and deep and a million years old. Black, as though his pupils were eternally dilated. "How are you adjusting to this change?" Though she had tried to rehearse the question in her head, it came out quick and rushed and awkward.

She checked his face, avoiding his eyes, and saw his brow furrow. He shrugged a little, and then scowled. "It is strange. If I do not dwell on it, it does not bother me – the foreign movements come with ease as though I've operated this body since I was created."

She was slightly surprised. "I guess you're really lucky. So…we _are _keeping your identity a secret, right?"

"Naturally," he answered cooly. She blushed and dropped her eyes to the ground. His tone made her feel like a child – and he probably thought of her that way. The child who slain Aludin! The thought was absurd to her. She was far from a child.

"We'll probably run into a few wolves," she said uncouthly and her blush deepened. "You can practice your sword on those."

He didn't offer an answer, as though her simple words were beneath him. "Um, Odahviing?" she murmured.

"Yes, young Dovah?" He looked right into her eyes and her feet stopped moving. She turned towards him, feeling a vile pain in a place she couldn't identify.

"This is all my fault," she whispered, feeling as though she might cry. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You should be," he responded harshly and she winced. A tear actually slipped from her eye and she wiped it away quickly, ashamed. "You should have called me earlier."

She swallowed and stared at him. His eyes were unaccusing – rather, slightly pained. She shook her head, not understanding. "I-I what?"

"You should have called me when he first caught you. You shouldn't have let him hurt you for so long, Emlen." She couldn't read his eyes now. His voice sounded odd when he said her name, and it made her feel odd too. She couldn't identify the feeling.

He brow furrowed. Why hadn't she called him right away? Her eyes widened slightly. "I think I knew what he was going to do," she said with heavy conviction.

Her knees shook and she fell, but Odahviing caught her. She remained in his arms, her vision clouding over, an abhorrent memory threatening to take her over. But Odahviing's body was very warm, and his arms were strong, and his voice was calling her name. She forced her way through the pain until her vision cleared and she could see him and Lydia looking over her.

"I'm all right," she stuttered out and pulled her way out of Odahviing's grip. She pressed her hands over her eyes for a long moment. "I'm all right," she repeated.

"We ought to stop," Lydia said. "You need to take this slowly."

"We just got started!" Emlen said as strongly as she could, but her voice was high pitched and she just sounded like a petulant child. She swallowed. "I'm fine, _honestly_," she said, and sounded a bit better.

Lydia looked as though she might argue but Odahviing cut her off. "She'll be fine. We should go."

Emlen threw him a grateful look and stood and led the way down the road.

It wasn't long before she heard the telltale catcalls of a few bandits. She drew her bow and set one of the dwarven arrows in place. She heard Lydia and Odahviing draw their swords. The bandits came into view – three of them, in simple hide armor, each holding a sword. They laughed at the hodgepodge of a group that they were. "Oda – Hunter, here's your chance," she said cautiously. Odahviing came in front of her, sword bared, body tense. "Hold back, Lydia. Attack only at my command."

"Now, now," the leader coaxed. "No need for violence. Just hand over all your valuables, and we won't have to kill you."

Odahviing stepped forward, and swung his sword at the man. It was deflected easily. "Ha!" the bandit laughed. "Haven't you ever wieled a sword before, pretty boy?"

Emlen was a little worried. Odahviing's movements were too tense and controlled – not free and loose. She kept her bow and arrow pointed at the leader just in case. The other two bandits were thankfully holding back, waiting to see how easy the kill would be.

The leader thrust his sword towards Odahviing – it caught his armor, and he stumbled.

All three bandits were laughing now, and Emlen was just about to step in and end the fight when an odd sound was heard. The bandit leader took a step back, his eyes disturbed. The sound was distinctly like a dragon snarling. But _surely_ it hadn't come from the man in front of them.

Odahviing's movements changed – slithering, smooth and whole and strong as though once more operating a greater shell. He brought his sword so hard against the bandit's, that the enemy's sword fell right out of his hand and to the ground. A great sweeping of the ebony sword and blood spurted from the bandit's neck.

For a long moment, the other two bandits were in shock – and then their eyes grew furious and they went to charge him at the same time and Emlen was sure he would need help. But his feet moved shoulder width apart, and his sword leaned off to the side, and a great shout issued from his throat – _"FUS RO DAH!"_

The bandits blasted back and slammed into a rock. The sickening crunch of their bones could be heard just past the resonance of the Dovah's voice. They both lay still on the ground.

Emlen was in shock. She vaguely recalled being told that this man had used a shout to heal her, but she hadn't quite realized…his soul was most certainly intact.

She moved forward in the silence and checked the two men. One of them was still breathing. He looked to her with hopeless eyes, left in severe pain to await his slow death. She pointed her arrow right at his forehead and looked into his eyes. She knew he wanted her to. "Talos be with you," she murmured compassionately but the arrow did not release from her hand like she had planned. She lowered it. His blue eyes filled with disappointment and fear.

She kneeled and set her bow aside. "What are you doing?" Lydia's voice reached her ears but she ignored it.

She pulled out the strongest healing potion she had and poured it down his throat. He closed his eyes. She raised her hands over him and began to whisper a healing spell. His limbs adjusted to the right angles. Skin knitted over the wounds. His body relaxed.

After a long minute, she stopped using the spell. She ran her hands over his body, checking each bone. His eyes opened and he sat up and inspected his body. His eyes met hers, his filled with shock.

The bandit stared at this woman – this angel. Surely that's what she was. Her beautiful eyes were filled with pity and compassion. Her hair in a loose side braid. She wore grey armor that he didn't quite recognize. But it was her face and hands that he was focused on. Her gentle fingers touched his cheek.

"Who are you?" she asked him.

He was speechless for a long moment before he managed to answer. "Aaron," he stuttered out.

"Aaron," she echoed. Her voice was sweet and clear and beautiful. "Yes, but _who _are you? Where are you from? Don't you have a family? Why did you become a bandit?"

He shook his head and then stumbled out an answer. "I was born in Solitude… I left my wife and child in Whiterun and I joined up with some bandits."

Her eyes filled with sorrowful disappointment and he felt horrible. "You left your wife and child? Didn't they want you to stay?"

He shook his head and moaned slightly. "I was a horrible father and a skooma addict. My wife kicked me out because she felt I was a danger to keep around our child."

"And your child?"

He actually began to cry, but he felt no shame in front of this angel. "Oh, my little Mila," he moaned. "I love her so much. She was my little girl. I was never good enough for her, but she adored me. I always tucked her in every night…Oh, my poor little Mila."

He saw the angel's brow furrow. "You're…Mila's father? Carlotta's husband?"

He nodded. "You…you know them? How are they?"

The angel offered a shrug. "They sell fruit and vegetables at a stand in the Plains District. There is something…" She trailed off, as though she might not tell him.

"What is it?" he asked desperately.

"Well, Carlotta is very pretty, you see…and she's being persued by multiple men. I mean, most of them seem to think your dead, but they really want her. Of course, she's been spurning them all, but if she hits financial problems and needs help she won't have a choice…"

"No," he said, pained.

The angel sighed. "But I guess you can't do anything. I mean, you're a bandit. And a skooma addict. What's the chance you'll find a legitimate job? Or give up your skooma just for Mila and Carlotta?"

"I will!" he practically begged. "I'll do anything for them!"

"Well, this is your chance!" she said emphatically. "Your second chance. I doubt you'll get another. Get your backside to Whiterun, get a job as a guard or a hunter or a salesman, take care of your daughter and win your wife back."

He nodded, his body shaking. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

She stood and grasped his hand and pulled him up. "Can you walk?"

He nodded. "Then you best go," she told him. She handed him his sword. "Don't die on the way there."

He nodded again for what must have been the fiftieth time. "What if they want to arrest me for what I've done?" he asked, distressed.

"Hmm." She seemed to think for a long moment. "March straight up to Dragonsreach and approach the Jarl. Lay your sword at his feet and beg for his forgiveness. Tell him that the Dragonborn sent you, saved you and told you to do all this, and that if he doesn't believe you, you can wait in the dungeon until I return and I will stand for you."

He stared at this angel. "Dragonborn?"

"The Dragonborn," she confirmed gravely.

"Thank you," he repeated softly. He turned and marched with grand determination to Whiterun – to home.

Odahviing watched the man go. He glanced at Lydia. The whole scene had been moving and he was shocked. He certainly hadn't known the Dragonborn had such compassion.

Emlen reached them and looked at Lydia. "Carlotta's lost husband. Can you believe it?"

Lydia stared at her. "Emlen…I'm proud of you. You did something amazing today." She shook her head in disbelief.

"Why did you do it?" Odahviing asked. He needed to know. He was not absent of compassion, but he felt nothing for those who intended him dead. He wouldn't have even gave him a merciful death – rather spat at his face and let him suffer.

Emlen shrugged. "He wasn't trying to kill me. If I could save him, I wanted to. He's not just a bandit – he's a man. And I think at least one of the Divine's must have been involved. I mean, what's the chance that Carlotta's husband was just passing by here, and that he would survive such a horrible injury, and that I could heal him at all? Our fates were linked."

Odahviing nodded, but he didn't understand. Emlen looked a little different, standing there. Had he never before seen her heart?

They walked on, and the sun was just beginning to set by the time they reached the great cave. It was large enough for a dragon to fit through easily, but sloped down until they were deep under the mountain, under miles and miles of crushing, suffocating rock. With a few sparing glances towards the sky, they entered the cave.

Immediately, they were confronted with a wave of fear. Emlen choked, Lydia almost ran, and Odahviing shuddered. But Emlen managed to whisper something and they calmed. "That's how come this place hasn't been raided," Emlen noted. "People flee before they even see anything."

"Do you think there are any more traps?" Lydia asked warily.

Emlen didn't answer, but continued in. Luckily, there were no more traps.

The massive inner chamber was filled with desks and alchemical ingredients and, of course, the replica of Dragonreach's trap. It still sat on the ground. Ten feet away from the trap was the slap of rock that the Dragonborn had been tortured on.

Odahviing turned to Emlen and watched her. Her breathing was shallow and her hands were shaking as she scanned the room. Wordlessly, she pointed to a chest that was pushed against several rocks.

Lydia went to it, and pulled out a set of moveable black armor, intricately designed. She also pulled out a black bow and a quiver of arrows. She brought them back to Emlen.

Emlen grasped her things and ran her hands over them. She slipped down until she was sitting, her back pressed against a rock. She breathed slowly, in and out. Her pupils dilated and her gaze darted all about, catching onto something and then yanking away from it.

"Are you going to be okay?" Lydia asked cautiously.

She was silent for a long moment, eyes filled with awful pain. "I…I snuck in," she managed to say. Her eye's sought out Odahviing's and locked in, staring so intently at him as though he held her lifeline. "I snuck in with an arrow at the ready and I came to this cave and I searched for him and…and…and I fell. I couldn't move at all. My entire body was paralyzed, and breathing had become hard and I couldn't even speak or turn my head to look. He was there, and he was taunting me And I was so afraid –" Her voice broke but she barreled on. "He put me on that rock and he pulled my armor off and left me in my chemise and I couldn't fight him at all and even when the spell wore off he used magic ropes to bind me and hold me down and I tried so hard to get out…He said he knew that I could shout for a dragon. He said he knew, and if I did it, he wouldn't hurt me. But I saw the trap and I knew at least part of his plan and I couldn't do it. I had to be stronger than he. I told him I wouldn't ever do as he wanted…he laughed at me."

Her voice broke and she dissolved into tears, a single leaf left on a wintered tree, alone and shaking, and waiting to fall. Odahviing's chest tightened up oddly. He didn't like to see her like this – not a child, not this strong child. This never should have happened to her, of that he was certain.

They sat in awkwardness for a long moment, Lydia gently brushing back her hair but understand there was nothing she could do for the girl. Odahviing shuddered inwardly. He wanted to…he wanted to… He couldn't identify the odd urge, the strange feeling in his arms.

A memory came to his mind of a father pulling his forlorn child into his lap as Odahviing observed from many miles away, atop a mountain, laughing at the odd human customs of _touch_. And again, a similar ritual when a man took a woman to be his wife and their lips touched and he hung onto her and cried for joy.

His body acted on its urges of its own accord. He sat in front of her and tugged at her arms until she crawled into his lap and sobbed into him and he wrapped his arms around her. She was a warm little thing. Certainly, it wasn't the first time he had held her from necessity. But it was the first time he noted the touch – his sensitive skin, her pulsing body and tiny beating heart. Her body still shivered and wracked with sobs, but he felt it calm like a storm that slowly died down. She stopped shuddering, and her breathing slowed so that he thought she might have fallen asleep.

Just as he was wondering if he should deposit her and make camp, or wake her up and get moving, she shifted, never having slept at all, and pushed out of his arms. Her eyes were weary and sad, and slightly confused when she looked at him. Her hand dug into her hair and she pulled it out of the braid it was in and then passed her fingers through until it lay all around her. It was crimped in loose waves from having dried in the position.

"I heard somewhere that mages always keep journals. We need to look around. Might find something useful," she said abruptly. She turned away from them and began a methodical, slightly mechanical search. He joined her and soon the three of them were spread out throughout the cave, knocking over odd books like _Aedra and Daedra _and _The Oblivion Crisis._

Finally, Emlen called out that she had located it. They all gathered, sitting on various rocks. Before she even pulled it open, she said, "His name is Eleutherius."

"And you know that, how?" Lydia asked.

Emlen waved the book, which was made of random pieces of parchement with holes near the top and bottom, with pieces of leather as the covers, all bound together with rope. A shoddy, homemade thing as though the wizard didn't have enough time to go journal shopping. "It's on the front," she said dully.

She opened it up, and read in a careful, steadied monotone, as though trying to pretend she didn't care what it said.

_**13**__**th**__** of Morning Star**_

_** Successfully contacted Mehrunes Dagon at his shrine. He deigned to allow me, his faithful follower, to carry out his deeds within this plane. The dragons within Skyrim are the perfect oppourtunity.**_

_** Need to gather the Eight Dead Souls hidden in Nordic Ruins. Power can be used to forge Anathema at Forsaken Crypt.**_

_** Dagon gave spell to turn man to dragon and dragon to man, assuming I can make it work. Takes more power to turn man to dragon. Takes scales crushed in the blood of the dragon to make the spell work.**_

_** Dragonsreach has the power to trap a dragon. Have to study trap.**_

"He was trying to turn a dragon into a man?" Lydia asked, horrified.

"It's worse than that," Odahviing said. "He's trying to turn a man – probably himself – into a dragon."

Emlen shook her head. "Why?"

"Mehrunes Dagon is the Lord of Chaos. What other reason does he need?" Odahviing said darkly.

"And what is Anathema? And the Black Diamonds?" Emlen asked.

"Only one way to find out – keep reading," Lydia instructed.

_**18**__**th**__** of Morning Star**_

_** Went to Whiterun; stayed with the lovely Ysolda. She showed me the third piece of Anathema that she keeps underneath a floorboard in her home in a small box.**_

_** She told me that the Dragonborn used a shout to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach recently. Rumor has it that the dragon will now come to the Dragonborn whenever she calls. May be only way to capture a dragon.**_

_** The trap is constructed to capture a dragon round the neck and stretches out to hold his front legs. Will have to reconstruct it. Ysolda says she knows someone who can help.**_

"I can't believe Ysolda is with him," Lydia said, shaking her head in disgust.

Emlen shuddered. "How many people does he have on his side?"

"Keep reading," Odahviing prompted her.

_**30**__**th**__** of Morning Star**_

_** Finished the trap. Smithed the metal pieces myself. Managed to set it up. Need to capture Dragonborn.**_

_** Ysolda told me she often does work for the Jarl, clearing out caves of bandits and necromancers. Will start attacking passerby to gain her attention.**_

_**9**__**th**__** of Sun's Dawn**_

_** Been luring passerby with illusion spells. Killed them all immediately. No reason to waste time with them. Disposed of bodies in different cave. Been studying ancient spells.**_

_** The Dragonborn will come soon.**_

_**10**__**th**__** of Sun's Dawn**_

_** Captured Dragonborn. She won't suddender easily. Have to be sure not to kill her. Starting with some basic fear spells.**_

Emlen dropped the book. It fell with a soft _thump _onto the floor. "I think we heard enough," she said tightly.

Lydia squeezed her shoulder. "I'll read it. We still don't know why Hunter was…" She trailed off, her brow furrowing. She grabbed the journal and flipped through it. "He captured Emlen because he wanted to make her call for a dragon…and the spell…and…" She looked straight at Odahviing. "Didn't you…didn't you say she called…?"

Odahviing glared at her. She swallowed. "Your name isn't Hunter, is it?"

"My name is Odahviing," he responded darkly.

Lydia shook her head. "Oh, gods. Oh, gods," she murmured and she backed away from him. "That's why you can shout. You have dragonblood."

"A dragon's soul, more like. This flimsy form could not hold blood so thick – the name simply comes from human stupidity." He spoke condescendingly, as he knew far more than she. And likely, he did. He was _much_ older.

Emlen worried at Lydia's reaction. Would they all respond the same? If word got out, would there be a call for him to be hanged?

"It must be kept quiet, Lydia," Emlen said urgently.

Lydia ran her hands through her hair. "Shouldn't the Jarl be alerted?"

Emlen shook her head. "Of course not. This hardly concerns him. I'll alert him about Eleutherius and Ysolda, but Odahviing will be left out of this."

Lydia hesitated, but nodded. She stared at Odahviing as though he crawled out of Oblivion itself. "How can you even move…in this form? I mean, you're a dragon! Shouldn't you be…falling all over the place?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't it obvious? If Eleutherius changed into a dragon but couldn't move, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Obviously, the spell made the transition easier."

She still looked weary. "Did he not help Alduin in an era long ago?"

Odahviing scowled. "Have you not helped your own people attack and kill dragons? And why? How do you know it is not the dragons who ought to rule rightfully, and that they may even rule you better than you can rule yourselves? Why do you side against them at all? For the simple sake that this they have sided against your species. I aligned with Alduin as he was my natural leader. But now, I have chosen to align myself with the Dragonborn and I will not forsake her."

Lydia seemed slightly surprised, but still slightly scared as though he might sprout wings and attack her with fire.

"We will discuss this no longer," Emlen said, trying not to put too much thought into Odahviing's last sentence. "Lydia, if you breathe a word of his identity…" She couldn't think of anything to threaten her with. She wouldn't kill her. They both knew that. But Lydia seemed to understand her. "We need to return to Whiterun with haste. Ysolda must be confronted."

* * *

**Author's Note: I am so sorry this took so long. School started, and I've hardly had time to keep up with the latest vlogbrothers videos, let alone write. I hope this has chapter has been better than some of the previous. Thank you so much for all the reviews - I love getting encouragement and constructive criticism, and you've all made me delighted. I apologize I couldn't respond to the reviews. I'll try harder this time. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Jarl Balgruuf leaned back lazily in his chair. In one ear, he could hear the steady drone of his pompous steward, Proventus, going on about some unimportant matter like the poor posture of the hold's guards or the overabundance of drunkards in the taverns.

Just as Balgruuf was considering who else he might appoint as steward, the door to Dragonsreach creaked open and someone slipped in. Balgruuf turned his eyes to the front to see a man in studded armor. He sat up straighter and placed a hand on his weapon for the man had the unmistakable air of a bandit. The stranger was worn and had a heavy gait, as though each step was painful.

Irileth stopped him, pointing her sword at his throat. "Halt! Why do you approach the Jarl?"

The man stopped, a mixture of exhaustion and determination in his eyes. "I was sent by the Dragonborn, sire."

Balgruuf raised his eyebrows. "The Dragonborn sent you here?" He doubted any man would tell such a great lie. "Let him approach, Irileth."

Irileth did as told and the man came forward. He kneeled before the Jarl and began his story, from when he first became a bandit to when he arrived here.

When he came to the end, Balgruuf could not help wonder what Emlen was doing out there. Still, it was completely believable that she would save this bandit's life.

He noted the man's shaking hands. "You're a skooma addict, aren't you?"

The man confessed that he was.

"And how long has it been since your last drink?"

"A few hours sire," he admitted cautiously.

Balgruuf nodded. "Now, being a bandit, how many people have you killed?"

The man's brow furrowed. "I haven't sir." He sounded more surprised than guilty, as though he was shocked that the number had come out to zero. "Never had a reason to, I suppose."

Balgruuf nodded but he knew this kind of skooma addict. They would say they'd quit – they'd try extremely hard. And then they'd be desperately grabbing for another shot of the stuff. He gestured a guard forward. "The jail, for now."

The man looked crestfallen. Balgruuf didn't dwell on it. He'd check on the matter in a few weeks; either the man would be truly clean, or dead from withdrawal.

Several dull hours passed. The one moment of interest was when Proventus left for a few minutes and the Jarl and his housecarl exchanged clever banter about tricking the fool into finding his own replacement. They both knew they wouldn't really; whether they admitted it or not, the dandy was helpful when he needed to be.

Consistently, Balgruuf's mind slipped off to think about the Dragonborn. Bright-eyed Emlen. She had grown so much since the first time she had come stumbling into Dragonsreach.

_"Let her pass," Balgruuf commanded his housecarl. He could see the woman-child was no threat. She had no muscle, thin and weak, and was wearing light Imperial armor six sizes too big. A dull iron sword was on her belt. She came forward, her hair in a mess, her face coated with a thick layer of dirt. Completely unfit for a meeting with a Jarl._

_ Her breath was coming out in small pants, but she managed to speak. "Sire," she started respectfully. "I was at Helgen."_

_ He raised his eyebrows; the news of the disaster had not yet met his ears. Mockingly, he said, "And I'm sure that was quite a feat for you. Do you have anything to say that I might actually care to hear?"_

_ She scowled though a blush crept around her neck. "There was a dragon, sir," she spoke with exasperation. "The entire village was destroyed."_

_ Balgruuf stared at her for a good, long moment. "A dragon? You expect me to believe that?"_

_ She shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say. I saw it pretty close. I can promise it's real. Alvor sent me to request for guards for Riverwood. If you don't believe me, any casualties will be on your hands."_

_ He looked her up and down. Her body bent as though she was carrying a hundred pounds on her shoulders. She acted as tall as a tree, but was quite nearly tumbling down. "You walked from Helgen to Riverwood, and then to here? And did you rest at all in Riverwood?"_

_ "I sat around for a while, I guess," she answered nonchalantly, but a certain hint of desperation entered her eyes, thirsting for rest like a burned child for comfort._

_ A child! She reminded him of his children. No wonder she filled him with an odd mix of disdain and affection. "How old are you?" he demanded, maybe a little loudly._

_ She blinked and then blushed, like an old woman who had need to be embarrassed of her age. "Uh, nineteen, sir."_

_ Nineteen years old. Just a babe. "And your name?" he asked in a gentler tone._

_ "Emlen."_

"_Do you have any money?"_

_ She searched her pockets, looking as curious as he. Out came a few coins and a lot of lint. "Twelve septims, sir."_

_ He nodded. "Go and find the Bannered Mare. Rent a bed for the night. Go rest, child. Return tomorrow and we'll discuss this dragon situation."_

_ She shook her head. "No, Riverwood needs you now. That thing was big. Trust me." She was silent for a second, her brow furrowed. "And I'm not a child," she added as an afterthought._

_ "I'll send guards to Riverwood immediately. Go. Get out of here."_

_ She shrugged as though to say her job was done and strolled out like she wasn't completely exhausted._

He'd seen her many times after that. At first, she would come in cold, her back straight, and ask if there was work she could do for him – desperately trying to prove she was more than a child. But slowly, she morphed into the young woman he knew, gentle and sweet and imploring, more concerned with pleasing than impressing, with the most adorable smile he had ever seen. She was everything he wished his own daughter would grow up to be – strong and independent, but loving and endearing.

The child wound up smithing her own armor (with the help of Eorland Gray-mane, whom she enchanted about three seconds after meeting). She won a sword through hours of slaving over the Skyforge for him. And then she went and fetched the Dragonstone, even though Balgruuf hadn't wanted to send her.

_ "Isn't there _something_ I can do for you, sir?" she asked, biting her lip, her eyes filled with hope._

_ He scowled. "Farengar needs help to fetch some old artifact, but it'll be far too dangerous. If you go at all, you'll need a companion."_

_ She rolled her eyes. "I can do it by myself. What is it?"_

_ "Bleak Falls Barrow – the Dragonstone," he answered a little wearily. "But if you go alone, you're sure to die._

_ "I won't die," she answered, entirely irritated by his doubt now. "You'll see."_

_ She left, and he was absolutely certain he had sent her to her death. He distracted himself for days, trying to block out images of Emlen being ripped apart by draugr and frostbite spiders._

_ And then he looked up and she was in front of him, thrusting out a stone half her size, her hair in a mess, her lip cut, her armor torn in several places. Her grin was triumphant like a child who caught her first fish._

_ The stone got knocked to the floor when he grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her hair. She was still for a long moment, before hugging him back and he felt her body shivering beneath him and he knew she had been scared. "You could've warned me about the corpses," she muttered into his chest._

_ He laughed._

_ He was impressed by her and wound up sending her on several raids to rid bandits from caves. Before long, he sent her with Irileth to investigate a dragon attack. And within hours, the news reached his ears._

_ That stumbling, frail child was the Dragonborn, the ultimate dragon killer, able to absorb the soul of a dragon and use it to learn to shout. All across Skyrim could be heard a shout, calling the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar._

_ She returned to him first and he looked at her skeptically. "The Dragonborn, hmm?" he asked as though he hadn't believed the rumors._

_ "Apparently," she laughed. _

_ He nodded and gestured her to come closer. She obliged and looked him in the eye. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and adrenaline left over from the fight. He declared her to be his thane and assigned the warrior Lydia to be her housecarl. "You have done well, Emlen. But did you hear that shout? The Greybeards have called you to High Hrothgar. Such a thing has not happened in all of my lifetime. This is urgent. You must go."_

_ "Of course, sir." He saw her eye Lydia a little apprehensively. "Um, you should…come along. I heard mountains always have a few trolls and I don't know if I can handle those on my own."_

_ "Do your duty, Lydia," he commanded her softly. She nodded and he knew she understood – Emlen was to be protected. Of course, he couldn't outright say to keep the child safe without hurting Emlen's pride. He could only hope he had chosen the right person to keep the bright-eyed girl alive._

Traces of her story leaked back to him through rivers of rumors. He couldn't have been prouder when she returned to tell him of her defeat of Alduin. And he couldn't have been more inconsolable when he found her broken and bleeding and nearly dead in a cave he sent her to. It was his fault.

He was terrified that madness would claim Emlen, his Emlen, and render her ruined. And yet, it seemed she was up to something already.

It was just then when the doors to Dragonsreach were opened and the child in question entered, flanked on both sides by Lydia and the strange man with the Voice. Her back was straight and she held herself tall once more.

The moment she approached him, she spoke. "Sire, the wizard's name is Eleutherius."

"And how did you find that out?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I returned to the cave and found his journal."

Balgruuf was silent for a long moment. He knew she could be foolish at times, but he hadn't believed her to be _that _stupid. He contemplated scorning her for it – but decided what's done is done. He sighed, "What else did you find out?"

She took a deep breath, and he knew her news was bad. "He's serving Mehrunes Dagon, who I believe intends to attempt to enter Tamriel again. He…" She hesitated for a long moment before barreling through her next sentence. "He is going to turn himself into a dragon. Or intends to, at least."

Balgruuf repressed a shudder, keeping his face blank. To be honest, the man who was now wearing ebony armor made him nervous; he knew he couldn't be trusted and he didn't want him to be around Emlen. He felt an odd sort of power surrounding him, as though Shouting was the least he could do. "How does he intend to do that?" he asked calmly.

"We're not entirely sure," she answered, slightly nervous. He noted the use of _we. _"He needs to forge something called Anathema, using artifacts called the Eight Dead Souls. From what I can tell, it's related. I assume Anathema holds the power needed to turn him."

"Do you know why he took you?"

"No sir," she answered, but she spoke too quickly. Her eyes turned panicked, her breathing quickened, and a blush covered her cheeks. She was a horrible liar. But at the same time, a horrible cold seemed to radiate from the strange man, and he knew better than to push the subject. Even if his pride took a hit.

"And how do you intend to stop him?"

"We have to find the fragments of Anathema. Eleutherius has followers throughout Skyrim and several of them have the fragments hidden in their houses."

He studied her. "And how do you intend to find them? You can't very well ransack every house."

"No, sir. We already know where one of them is."

There was a long heavy silence as the horrible truth set in. There were people in every city who were traitors. Traitors passed everyday on the streets, with homes and friends and families. "Not in Whiterun." It wasn't a question. None of his people were traitors. He wouldn't have it.

Emlen sighed. "Ysolda, sir."

Balgruuf shook his head. "You intend to enter her house to find it?"

She nodded gravely.

"And what if he's there, hiding?"

Emlen blanched, her skin turning as white as mountain snow. Balgruuf nodded. "I'll accompany you myself, child."

Irileth said, "I'll go with you as well." He nodded to her appreciatively.

He stood and his gaze drifted towards the man to the right of Emlen. Their eyes met and held for a long moment but Balgruuf could not read him. He returned his gaze to Emlen, and met her grateful eyes. She nodded as if to say she was ready.

The five warriors headed down the stone steps to find the woman who had betrayed them all.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry it takes me so long to update... Reviews are greatly appreciated! I am extremely grateful to any who offer constructive criticism, since I do my best to listen and fix the problems. I can only hope each chapter I upload is better than the last, as my writing needs evermore improvement. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

Three harsh knocks resounded against the door of Ysolda's home. Outside a group was gathered – three Whiterun guards, Jarl Balgruuf, Emlen, Odahviing, and Lydia. Emlen was right in the door, steeling herself for however complicated or simply this might go. It was imperative that they find the piece of Anathema.

The door opened and Ysolda stared at the gang outside her house. "Um, can I help you?" she asked hesitantly.

"We need to search your house," Emlen answered simply.

Ysolda laughed awkwardly, her eyes flicking around nervously. "I don't think all of you will fit in my house…"

Emlen was nervous. She lost her patience. Her hands pushed Ysolda back and out of the way. "Hunter, with me. The rest of you stay outside."

Odahviing, broad shouldered and tall, barely fit through the doorway and seemed to take up half the house. Somehow, his presence seemed to allow her to focus, to take away her fear. "Sit down, Ysolda. I wouldn't suggest trying to leave."

Ysolda didn't sit, but Odahviing pushed her into a chair. She was beginning to look frightened. "What is this all about?"

"Where is it?" Emlen demanded.

Ysolda shook her head. "Where is what?"

Emlen's heard her voice rise. "The piece of Anathema."

Ysolda turned as white as a ghost. "I don't know what you're talking about!" The words tumbled out of her mouth defensively. Her hands were shaking.

Emlen scowled and kicked at the floor. "I won't hesitate to tear up your house."

Odahviing gestured at a plain rug that was laid out in the center of the floor. "Start there."

"No!" Ysolda shouted, standing up. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I want you out of my house!"

Odahviing pushed her down again.

Emlen pulled up the carpet. One of the floorboards was a little shorter than the rest, not fitting in it's spot correctly. "This is absurdly obvious," she muttered, mildy confused.

"Mankind is predictable," Odahviing answered as she pulled out the board and put her hand in to search around. She pulled out a intricately ingraved wooden box.

"Put that down!" Ysolda shouted desperately. "It's a family heirloom!"

Emlen ignored her and pulled it open. Inside the box was a small black piece of metal, shaped sort of like a trapezoid. There was an unusual look to the surface, like swirls or clouds or fire. Emlen touched it with her finger and fliched back. It was both freezing and burning. Like the time when she accidently put her finger in boiling water - in the first instant, she thought it was freezing but then the heat set in painfully.

"Give that back to me!" Ysolda demanded.

"Shut it," Emlen snapped.

Ysolda wasn't having it. Her hand filled with flames as she stood.

Emlen closed the box and jumped up. "You'll burn the whole house down!"

"Anathema will survive!" Ysolda cried out. Emlen ducked from the gout of fire sent her way. The wall burst into flames which began to spread quickly.

She caught Odahviing's hand to her chest as he thrust her out of the house like swatting a fly. She would've fallen on the ground if Balgruuf hadn't caught her. Odahviing came out next, with an unconscious Ysolda slung over his shoulder. He threw her onto the ground where she lay like a ragdoll.

"The fire's going to burn down all of Whiterun!" one of the guards cried.

Emlen filled her empty hand with a frost spell and sprayed it at the fire. The fire melted the ice, which in turn doused the fire.

There was a collective sigh of relief from the whole of Whiterun who had gathered to watch the drama. Guards started to tell them to move along, all while trying to catch a piece of the action themselves.

Emlen got the attention of the guards who had come from Dragonsreach. "Take her to the dungeons. When she awakes, we'll need to interrogate her. Don't give her a chance to escape."

Emlen's mind turned to rest, a rare commodity for an adventurer, but just as she was about to suggest they return to Breezehome since Ysolda would be out for a while, Balgruuf spoke up. "Emlen, come with me to Dragonsreach. I wish to hear of your plan of action – and perhaps have a formal introduction to your new friend."

Emlen internally flinched. This was going to be interesting. "Hunter" had no past to offer, no explanation as to why he was captured by the wizard. Not to mention, he wasn't good with people and he already seemed to be butting heads with Balgruuf. With a deep breath, she followed Balgruuf back to Dragonsreach.

* * *

**A/N: Shorter than most chapters, but at least it's finished. Speaking of which, would you guys rather have shorter chapters that come more often or longer chapters that come less often? The quality will be the same, of course.**

**I've sort-of drawn Anathema using GIMP, and separated the pieces. The piece found in this chapter can be seen through a link in my description. The link leads to my tumblr, so you're not going to a shady site, I promise.**

**Please review! Reviews make me happy. They also encourage me to write. Criticism makes me write better. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

In the war room, Balgruuf turned to Emlen. "You said his name is Hunter?"

Emlen nodded. She saw his eyes rake Odahviing who glared back coldly.

"Where are you from, Hunter?" Balgruuf asked. The question was friendly enough, but there was plenty of distrust behind it. Not to mention, _she_ certainly didn't have an answer.

"Northern Skyrim," Odahviing answered vaguely.

Balgruuf raised his eyebrows. "You're a Nord, then?"

"I have no Nord blood," he answered. "But I know little about my…family history."

Balgruuf scowled, as though trying to sort out this mysterious man. "Why were you in that cave?"

Odahviing and Balgruuf glared at each other for a long moment. Knowing men, Emlen figured they were having a fierce debate. Or maybe a blinking contest.

"I heard the Dragonborn had entered but not returned," Odahviing finally answered. "I went after her."

The glaring started again, fiercer than before, but Emlen still couldn't decipher it. Somehow, it seemed Odahviing had offended Balgruuf.

Balgruuf finally gave a single nod. "How do you know her?"

"Our paths crossed some time ago." Emlen was quite awed at how he managed to answer without answering at all.

"And do you intend to stay with her now, even on her journey?"

"I'll protect her with my life."

Emlen wasn't sure what to think of that. The glaring had started again.

Balgruuf turned on her. "And what do you intend to do? Knock on their doors and rip out their floorboards when you know Ysolda was the least threatening?

She scowled. "I know how to handle myself."

"No, child, you do not," he answered gravely, like that was the final decision. Like he knew better than her, like she was to bow and listen to him. She bristled.

"Child? Am I a child, sir?" she asked her voice dripping with spite. "Do you believe it was by some mistake that I defeated Alduin? Do you believe I stumbled and dropped my sword into his eye? Because, believe me, sir, that was not what happened. I am less child than you are. I am capable of so much more than you could ever believe. You sit on your throne, but you have no true power."

He was bristling in response, but she wouldn't hear it. She was getting close to losing her temper, and that would end badly. She turned and left, knowing her comrades would follow.

Back in Breezehome, Emlen was shaking with anger. "How dare he?" she demanded and her hand closed around a plate and chucked it at the wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces.

She was reaching for a bowl when Lydia grabbed her shoulder. "Emlen, calm down."

She shook her off immediately. "I will _not _calm down! That arrogant, slimy –"

"_Dein hin klov, Dovahkiin_." Keep your head, Dragonborn. Emlen blinked and stared at Odahviing. His eyes weren't accusing or angry, but she still couldn't read them.

"Right," she muttered. "Um…we're leaving as soon as we can interrogate Ysolda. I don't think staying here is a good idea. Disrespecting Balgruuf wasn't my best decision ever."

Ysolda was nursing a bruise on her temple from where Odahviing knocked her out, but she was awake. She scowled when Emlen, Lydia, and Odahviing showed up at her cell.

"What do you want?" she asked wearily.

"Answers," Emlen said simply. "Where are the other pieces?"

"I don't know."

"What do they form?"

"I don't know."

"Where is Eleutherius?"

"I don't know."

Emlen scowled. "Well, what do you know?"

Ysolda gave no answer.

Emlen punched the bars on the cell. "Do not test me, Ysolda. My temper is short."

"You can burn in Oblivion," Ysolda snapped back.

Emlen frowned. "Are there any answers in your house?"

"No," she answered, but her voice was quick even in that one word. Emlen nodded and left without another word.

Half of Ysolda's house was intact. They spent fifteen minutes sifting through drawers and chests before Lydia found a box of old letters beneath the bed. Ten minutes of reading through them and they found the answer.

"Of course!" Emlen cried, delighted to find a name of someone whom she wasn't friendly with. "Calixto Corrium!"

"You know him?" Lydia asked.

"Well, I did," she answered. "He was actually a lunatic serial killer in Windhelm, and I had to kill him to save Arivanya. Anyway, he had this shop called Calixto's Curiosities, and as far as I know, it's remained untouched since his death. This will probably be the easiest grab we'll have, since we just have to search the shop."

They returned to Breezehome where Emlen managed to make half a feast with the food in the house. She was starving – she hadn't realized how long it had been since she ate, and she wasn't quite sure how she managed it.

"Your soul," Odahviing explained, eating a piece of cooked beef with his hands. "Dragons can manage weeks without eating, drawing strength from their soul."

She nodded and took another bite of her apple and cabbage soup. "Lydia, do you think I should take a carriage or walk to Windhelm?"

"Why would you take a carriage?"

"It's probably faster."

"Yes, but you know how you get."

Odahviing was staring at them, half-annoyed, half-curious.

"I go kinda crazy if I have to sit still for hours," Emlen explained. "And carriages are uncomfortable and quiet and dull."

There was a long silence afterwards as they finished their meal. Emlen stretched and said they should move out immediately.

Lydia smiled sadly. "You will have to move quite fast, won't you?"

Emlen nodded. "Are you ready to go?"

Lydia shook her head. "It's best I don't. I only get in your way and you can manage yourself."

Emlen bit her lip. "Why won't you stay with me?"

Lydia sighed. "Emlen, I have to rest. I can't keep up with you.

"Oh." Emlen blushed violently. "Sorry, Lydia." She had forgotten that her body didn't need much sleep – probably another perk of being Dragonborn, as Odahviing had said.

"Well, then I guess it's just you and me, Odahviing," she said, glancing at him. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," he answered. He wasn't looking at her and his eyes were slightly frustrated but she would never understand why. His expression dissolved back to impassive. He stood. "Let us go. Windhelm is far on foot."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

"There's the Serpent, and the Mage."

Odahviing's finger traced the night sky. Emlen stared at the stars. She'd always thought they were pretty, but had never bothered to find the constellations.

Emlen had dragged Odahviing to the top of Valtheim towers, searching for a story to be told. He was very old after all and what better place to find a story than in prime view of the sky? The bandits were easy to deal with – and fun. She always enjoyed a good midnight massacre.

What could she say? She got bored on long walks.

Odahviing didn't seem to mind so much.

"The Lady and the Lover," he continued. Constellations weren't quite the story she was looking for, but it would do. "The Apprentice is over there."

"It looks more like a bow to me," she said. It seemed kind of absurd that people drew images out of these stars.

He shushed her gently. She was sitting on a table, her feet swinging back and forth slowly. He stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder gently. The weight and the warmth that seeped through her Nightingale armor comforted her. "The Lord," he traced. "And the Thief."

His voice was low and gentle, rolling over the words like a river, steady and strong. "The Steed is there. The Tower and the Ritual. Do you know what sign you were born under?" His question interjected but his voice remained the same.

"No. The tradition fell away."

"The constellations remain relevant. There's the Atronach and the Warrior…and finally, the Shadow. When were you born, Emlen?"

"The Seventh of First Seed, in the year 182," she answered. She felt calm and relaxed and a little bit sleepy. His voice was so gentle.

"First Seed hails under the sign of the Lord."

"I was born under the Lord?" Her eyes searched for the Lord in the sky.

"I believe, however, in the year 182 in the fourth era, the Serpent crossed the Lord's path."

"So I was born under the Serpent?" She stared at the four stars that indicated the constellation.

"Yes, Emlen."

The Serpent sounded like a distrustful one, like a creeping snake in the grass, coming to silently bite her. However, many things seemed distrustful to her at first. And the Serpent seemed to have sought her out.

Her body drooped, tired. She heard a sound…Odahviing pulling off his Ebony gauntlets. Why was he doing that? A moment later, warm arms lifted her. She was asleep before Odahviing laid her down.

XxXxXxX

Odahviing sat on the floor next to the bed he had put Emlen in, his back against the side. He pulled the gauntlets back on.

His eyes turned to her. Her hair was messy, her lips parted slightly. He felt an uncomfortable longing to pull her back into his arms, to feel her weight against him, to have her close. It wasn't right.

She was correct in her assertion that she wasn't a child – for a mortal. But compared to him? She was an infant.

Worse than that, she wouldn't stay that way. If he got back to his rightful form like he planned, she was going to age. And he was going to lose her. He hardly would have a breath of air with her.

Unable to hold himself back, he reached up and allowed his fingers to trace her hand. She was so soft.

Dragons never touched one another. Their scales might scrape against rock and slide against water – but touch had never meant anything. It didn't matter when nerves were separated from the outside by an inch of scales and thick hide.

He almost shifted and moved closer to touch her face – but this time, he held himself back. His fingers retracted from her. When she slept, she was not his to touch.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

"Sorry I fell asleep on you. I usually last longer than that."

"Even Dovah need rest."

"I'll try to warn you next time."

"You did no harm."

Armored feet scratched against the stone road as man and woman walked side by side. Sun shone palely in the morning. A few miles and the air would grow colder as they crossed into Eastmarch and eventually headed north. She vaguely considered straying from the road and heading straight towards Windhelm – only last time she did something like that, she wound up wandering into a cave out of curiosity and nearly getting killed by Falmer.

One of these days, she wasn't going to make it out of a cave.

She pushed the thought from her mind and glanced at Odahviing. He caught her eye. "Doesn't Windhelm have something to do with this petty war your people are fighting?"

"Yes – Ulfric Stormcloak leads the rebellion there. He's the Jarl of Eastmarch."

"And how does the war go?"

"I managed to negotiate a truce, but they've started fighting again."

"Are you involved?"

"I've done my best to stay out of it," she said with a shrug.

"Why is that?"

"I don't really think either side is right. I mean, we need to have a united Empire – it's better for everyone. But then, Talos shouldn't be disregarded. He's our god; we aren't just going to throw him away."

"Do they want you involved?"

"Both sides think that having the Dragonborn on their side will rally their troops and scare their enemies. They've both tried to recruit me. I've turned down both sides."

A comfortable silence fell between them, as they listened to the sounds around them. A fox slipped past their legs and ran ahead and disappeared between a few bushes.

Nine hours, seven wolves, three bandits, and one troll later, Emlen ducked into the Windhelm stables, searching for warmth and her friend Arivanya.

Her palms were covered by the Nightingale gauntlets but her fingers were left bare to the cold. She pressed her fingers against one horse, enjoying the warmth the creature gave off. It made a noise of contentment.

She felt Odahviing's hand on her shoulder, slightly unsure. She could feel the warmth and pressure, but not as much as she'd like to. It was moments like this that she wished she wore clothes instead of armor. She didn't look at him or consider why he touched her. Somehow, it made her feel lighter after the long walk.

"Emlen!" Arivanya's voice interrupted her thoughts. Odahviing's hand slid away. Emlen looked up and at Arivanya.

Arivanya was an Altmer – a High Elf from Summerset Isle. She was golden – her hair, her eyes, her skin, all different shades of the same rich metal. She was a bitter woman, but not as snobbish as many of her race. Emlen smiled. "Arivanya, how have you been?"

Arivanya shook her head, and Emlen's heart dropped. Something bad was happening. "What's going on?"

"Somebody has decided to take up the Butcher's cause. They're calling him the Apprentice."

Emlen shook her head. The Butcher, Calixto Corrium, was horrible – he slaughtered women in an attempt to resurrect his dead sister. Who else would be doing this? "Who did he kill?" she asked, afraid to know the answer.

"Luaffyn, the bard in Candlehearth Hall."

"Oh no," Emlen murmured. She turned to Odahviing. "We've got to go. I can only hope this Apprentice hasn't broken into Calixto's shop."

XxXxXxX

Calixto's House of Curiosities was a beautiful building filled with strange and intriguing artifacts. Only now, it was ripped apart, every artifact strewn about the floor, tables and chairs knocked over, a bookshelf upended.

Emlen hurried to the chest that she had left Calixto's journals in. They had been removed. "This is bad," she said.

"The piece might have been hidden in plain sight," Odahviing said. "It might have been overlooked."

"Maybe," she muttered, half-hopeful, but not really believing it. The next ten minutes was spent searching through the artifacts, but nothing turned up. Emlen threw her hands up. "He took it. Now I've got to catch another killer."

"Do you know where to start?"

"Jorleif, the steward in the Palace of the Kings. I'll need permission to actually investigate, even if I've done it before."

"And if he denies you permission?"

"He won't," she answered. "He wouldn't dare. They hadn't been able to solve it without me before."

XxXxXxX

Within an hour, Emlen was on the hunt again, heading towards the Hall of the Dead to check out the body. "Do you have any advice, Odahviing?" she asked him quietly.

He was silent for a long time before answering. "Why did the first one attack?"

"He was trying to bring his dead sister back to life."

"Is there anybody else who might have the same goals?"

Emlen stopped where she was. "Torbjorn Shatter-Shield."

"Why?" Odahviing stood in front of her, facing her.

She bit her lip. "One of his daughters was murdered by the Butcher. The other…" She hesitated, feeling slightly guilty. She pushed the feeling away. After all, she'd done it for her family. "The other was shot with an arrow in her sleep. And his wife killed herself."

Odahviing raised his eyebrows. "The man has no luck. But would he do something like this?"

"He's pretty desperate, but maybe not that much." She shrugged. "We can check him out later. The body first."

Luaffyn was cut in the same way as the previous victims of the Butcher, but sloppier. "He didn't know what he was doing," the priestess said. "He's angry, but he's not a mastermind."

"That might work to our advantage," Emlen considered. "Do you have any evidence pointing to who might have done it?"

"I'm afraid not."

Emlen scowled. "We're not getting anywhere!" She felt frustrated and stressed – another woman could be killed at any minute! It was a miracle she had been able to save Arivanya last time. What chance did she have to solve this again?

Odahviing's hand rested on her shoulder. "You have traveled far today. Perhaps it is best you rest. If you stop for a time, you may see something you haven't."

She wanted to argue and she prepared to, but he squeezed her shoulder and she stopped. The pressure grounded her. She forced herself to focus on it and breathe. "You're right," she admitted. "We can go to my home, Hjerim."

"You have a home here as well?"

"Yeah, it was a spontaneous decision," she answered. "It had something to do with the Butcher. I'll explain everything there."


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

Odahviing didn't want to sit, instead leaning his back against the wall and watching Emlen with dark eyes. Emlen didn't want to stand, so she sunk to the ground and leaned against the wall opposite Odahviing, and brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them loosely.

She let her gaze linger on the floor as she explained. The story was long and she rambled through it with little thought.

"The Butcher was a killer on the loose in Windhelm. He killed Friga Shatter-shield. And two others, I think, but I don't know who. I heard about him the first time I arrived, and Friga was already dead. I left without doing anything, but when I returned to Windhelm, Susanna was dead. Her body was found in the graveyard and I volunteered to help solve the mystery.

"I spoke to Jorlief, who gave me permission but had little advice to offer. The priestess of Arkay told me that curved blades used for embalming had been used on the woman. I found blood spatters in the graveyard that led her – to Hjerim. There were journals, a strange necklace, and a room filled with bloody bones and other disgusting things.

"Jorlief sent me to Calixto Corrium to find out about the necklace. He told me it was a Wheelstone, traditionally carried by court mages and then offered to buy it so I sold it to him. I went to Viola Giordano to ask her about the pamphlets I found. She said that the Butcher was probably Wuunferth, the court mage.

"I chose to confront Wuunferth directly, but he insisted he wasn't actually a necromancer, and said he was a member of the College of Winterhold. It didn't make sense, since the College actually quietly tolerates Necromancy, but he seemed honest. He said he'd been doing research and had found a pattern and that the next strike would be in the Stone Quarter at night. So I set off to patrol.

"I found Calixto sneaked up on Arivanya, and managed to stop him, but I had to kill him. I found his personal journal in his shop. He was trying to bring his dead sister back to life."

Odahviing was silent for a long moment. "Do you think the mage – Wuunferth – might know more?"

She shrugged. "I hope so."

He studied her and she kept her eyes to the floor to avoid his scrutinizing gaze. "You must rest now," he said.

It was more of a command that a request, and for some reason it made her shiver. He was very old – and a dragon no less! Wasn't it his very instinct to command, to control, to –

She shushed her thoughts before they could scare her. Odahviing wouldn't hurt her. He wasn't…trying to control her. She was being paranoid.

To think one little phrase could set her off.

But she learned to be cautious long ago.

"No, I have to catch the murderer," she answered, half testing him.

His voice was slightly softer. "You cannot if you are exhausted. You will not be able to think."

She let out a sigh. He was just trying to help her. Why did she have to be so scared? Was she really so scarred? It wasn't like there were so many betrayals in her life.

She pulled herself up. "All right. What will you do? Don't you need rest too?"

He shook his head. "Go lay down. I'll be there."

And so she did, covering herself with the blankets on the bed upstairs after changing into a spare nightgown in one of the drawers. She watched Odahviing sit on the ground in view of her, but she got the sense he was watching over her.

That calmed her more than anything.

She closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.

Odhaviing watched Emlen sleep, her chest moving up and down, her body occasionally twisting in search of comfort. He knew rest would benefit him as well in this weak form, whether he liked it or not, so he closed his eyes and remained on the edge of sleep for some time.

He awoke, unsure what roused him. A second later came the cry, as though he had anticipated it. "Astrid!"

Within a second, he was by Emlen's side, shaking her gently to wake her. She blinked and sat up and stared at him, breathing heavily. "Oh," she said, relieved before pain crossed her face again. "_Oh_," she echoed, as though she realized her dream wasn't really a dream. Her eyes lowered to the ground as she calmed her breathing.

He touched her chin gently, brought her face up to look at him. "What happened?"

"Just a recurring nightmare," she answered vaguely. "I'm all right."

"Recurring?" he asked. She shrugged. It bothered him. If there was a danger, something scaring her, he would kill it. But if it was just a memory, what could he do? He didn't dare ask about the name, for fear she would be overwhelmed by a memory. He sat down on the bed and allowed his fingers to brush over her forehead and down her cheek. She closed her eyes, as though he comforted her. Strange how she could be moved by something so simple.

His fingers traced down her neck and she leaned in to him slightly. His eyes grazed over the bare skin and her thin nightgown. His touch led down over her collarbone, and he felt the hard edge, his other hand rising to gain more of her skin upon his –

Emlen jolted and pushed his hand away and got off the bed very quickly. He glared at her, and found himself feeling far more frustrated than he should have felt. She didn't look back at him, but crossed her arms. "It's best we go. The sooner we catch this madman, the better."

Odahviing stood, unaccustomed to controlling his anger. He wanted to…he wanted to…

Actually, he wasn't sure what he wanted since some of the thoughts going through his head weren't making sense.

Emlen breathed in and out, feeling a heat behind her, as though she could sense whatever was going on in Odahviing's mind. All of this scared her. It was as though her feelings with him were heightened, spiking to an uncomfortable place that was all too passionate for everything he caused in her.

But she didn't like the word passionate. It made her think of things she didn't want to think about. Or maybe she did.

She closed her eyes in a grimace, and vowed to go diving in Windhelm's port as soon as the Apprentice was over with. There was nothing better to wash away unwanted filth than the bitter waters.

"Emlen."

The voice came strange, half-choked with emotion he'd never bothered with in all of the centuries of his existence. And there was pain there that she never meant to cause, and frustration, and confusion, and something else that she didn't dare put a name to. She turned to grant him a glance and saw in his eyes no anger, but a desperation that was scratching at her as much as him, tearing at her insides. Those eyes settled the longing in her to something more innocent and simple and much more manageable.

She conceded to the desire and went to him and pressed into him, ignoring the way his armor separated her from him, and hung onto him and appreciated the way his arms wrapped around her and his hand came up to carress the back of her head, and she could have stayed in the embrace forever but had to pull herself away. There was a murder to be solved and the world wouldn't stop turning for her.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11_

On the second floor of the Palace of Kings was a room filled with alchemical ingredients and soul gems and other magical items. Emlen had always liked the look of the room, but she never quite liked the man who made his life there.

"Wuunferth," she greeted as she saw him, uncomfortable in his territory.

The mage was old, with blue robes and a beard. He scrutinized her, judging her young age, her strange armor, the man who entered by her side.

"Dragonborn," he greeted in the same tone. "I didn't take you as the type to take partners."

She ignored that. It didn't matter. Both of them knew it. "What do you know of the Apprentice?"

He barked out a laugh. "Are you here to accuse me of being a killer once more?"

"Of course not," she answered irritably. "Just looking for answers."

"Answers," he mused. "I can't give you much. This Apprentice isn't just a copycat. He's not killing for the sake of killing. I'm sure enough of that. He has a reason. I believe the Butcher intended to resurrect his dead sister? This Apprentice must have similar motives. I've been looking into a specific Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, what with his whole family dying. You should start by investigating his home, but I think it's best we keep this suspicion quiet. You shouldn't ask permission from Jorlief."

She nodded. "I can get into the house without a problem."

Wuunferth chuckled. "One might wonder where you get you experience from, Dragonborn."

She blinked. Her throat and chest tightened as she stumbled in search of a lie. She couldn't find one.

But what could he accuse her of? Thieving? That wasn't really so bad.

"What with those rumors of dark tidings involing you and Dawnstar, we all wonder how Nilsine wound up dead…"

Every instinct in her body told her to flee. No one was supposed to know her secrets. The sense that they were breaking made her feel faint.

She heard the movement of ebony armor before Odahviing moved slightly in front of her, one hand on his sword, threatening the wizard without a word. She steeled herself. He was here and nothing could hurt her.

Besides – the wizard had no idea the full extent of her 'dark tidings.' She heard herself say, "I suggest you stay out of my business. I'd hate for one of my associates to feel the inclination to pay you a visit."

Her feet carried her out, and Odahviing followed her until she stopped in a corner of the city, where no one could see or hear her through thick stone walls.

Odahviing studied her. "Dark tidings?" he asked, but there was no accusation in her eyes.

"Rumors," she answered, not entirely lying. There were plenty of rumors. What could she do if most of them were true? But her hands were starting to shake from guilt and fear.

His eyes looked too deep, until she was certain he was staring right into her soul and discovering just how black it was.

She looked away.

His hand reached for her face and she didn't resist as he cupped her cheek. His hands were always so warm. She met his eyes.

"You've done many good things, Dovahkiin," he reminded her gently and that was all he had to say. Her whole body relaxed, the tension freeing itself. She nodded.

"I've got to get into that house," she muttered.

He dropped his hand. "Then go. I'll meet you in Calixto's House of Curiousities."

She nodded. She hadn't always felt so guilty. Her darkest deeds didn't take place in her darkest days. She had been happy then. The guilt didn't set in until the deeds were over, and she couldn't return to them.

XxXxXxX

Nobody saw Emlen slip into the house of Clan Shatter-Shield, but even if they did, they wouldn't have expected anything. She walked right up, fiddled near the lock for just a moment, and entered and to anyone watching, she might as well have had a key.

She was just pleased she didn't break her lockpick.

It didn't take more than a moment to scout out the house for any occupants. Had anyone been there, she would have been able to flee before they got a good look at her face. But the house was empty.

Her hands rummaged through every drawer and sifted through clothes in closets. She lifted rugs to check for trap doors. She investigated cracks in walls for hidden rooms. Nothing.

She was examining a shelf on the second floor when she heard a door open and the heavy sigh of a mourning man.

Torbjorn Shatter-Shield closed the door behind him and wrapped his fingers around the first bottle of mead he saw. His house was empty, painfully so. His daughters weren't grinning up at him from the table, knitting or reading. His wife wasn't greeting him with a kiss. He was very much alone.

He dragged himself up to the second floor, and slumped into a chair. He poured the mead into his mouth, swilled it around for a moment before swallowing. It was disgusting. He never liked the stuff. Yet it took so much to make him drunk. Even then, the silence only ever got deeper.

He stopped drinking for a moment and considered just how drunk he was. He wasn't. And yet he had the strangest feeling someone was watching him. Usually, that only happened when he was far gone.

He looked around, for the first time recognizing he was in his bedroom. There was somebody here with him, he was sure. His eyes fell on the bed.

It was an age old fear, the horror of childhood. The monster underneath the bed.

Once, a very long time ago, Nilsine begged him to check beneath her bed for a monster. He checked for her, and there was nothing. She had thanked him with the biggest smile.

Now, he went to the bed and he stood before it and just barely, he heard the small gasp someone takes right before holding their breath. He stooped down and looked under the bed.

Two bright, frightened eyes stared back at him.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12_

Torbjorn reached in, grasped a hand, and yanked the perpetrator out from under the bed. She didn't stand but scrambled away until her back was against the wall, and she stared up at him with a mixture of guilt and fear.

The first thing he noticed: her age. She might have been younger than his daughters.

The next thing he noticed was her armor. He had never seen anything like it. It might have been foreign. It was black like ebony, but finer and intricately designed.

The final thing he noticed was who she was. The legendary Dragonborn.

"Now what is the Dragonborn doing under my bed?" he asked, more curious than anything.

She didn't answer for a long moment. "Uh, I-I didn't….I'm sorry." The apology came out strange, confused as though she knew she had to say it, but wasn't sure why.

He grunted. "I'm sure you are, but why have you broken into my house?"

"Investigating," she answered, her voice small.

He sat down on his bed and stared at her. Her eyes were wide and panicked. Wasn't this the woman who had defeated Alduin? Maybe, to her, there was nothing more frightening than being caught red-handed.

"Investigating what?" he asked.

She shook her head, unwilling to answer. He sighed. "What's your name, girl? I never got it before."

"Emlen," she answered nervously.

"You got a last name?"

"Not for a long time."

He nodded. "So. I caught you breaking and entering. You going to kill me to keep me quiet?" The question was matter-of-fact. Death didn't scare him anymore.

She shook her head frantically. "No. No, I don't like killing innocent people."

He laughed humorlessly. "Both my daughters were innocent and they were killed."

He looked into her eyes and stared in shock. He'd never seen so much guilt in one person. "What did you do?" he asked her quietly.

She shook her head mutely.

He studied her. "There are a lot of rumors of you, you know. I always believed most of them were lies. Surely the great Dragonborn wasn't a werewolf. Or the new guildmaster of the Thieves Guild. Or had championed Molag Bol. But there was always one that bothered me more than anything. Stories of you and dark tidings in Dawnstar."

Her whole entire body began to shake like a leaf. "I'm so, so sorry."

It was a confession and both of them knew it.

To think that the murderer of his own daughter was in the same room as him – shaking and shivering like a child. Every logical thought told him to be furious – but he wasn't. He didn't feel angry at all. He couldn't make himself hate her in this moment. She was defenseless. There was a bow slung across her back, but he knew she wasn't going to use it. Her guilt had become debilitating.

He stood and approached her. She closed her eyes and flinched away like a small animal, as though expecting to be struck. Instead, he grasped her bow and with one great yank upward, he took it from her.

He sat back on the bed and ran his hands over the bow. "Did you use this?"

Her eyes had opened and she was staring at him hopelessly. She nodded.

"Was it a contract?" He wanted to know everything about the death. His other daughter, Friga, had been killed by a lunatic serial killer. But Nilsine was shot with an arrow in her sleep. No explanation. Nothing. There was no reason to be found, no place to put the blame.

"Yes," she answered immediately, almost desperately, as though through confession she could be cleansed. Then she hesitated, and if possible, looked even guiltier. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well," she stuttered out. "Um, I was supposed to kill a man, but she – the client – said that I would get a bonus if I killed…um, your daughter…and um…if I hadn't it wouldn't have been right, the contract wouldn't have been truly completed."

He sighed. The pain was breaking anew. "Who was your client?"

"Muiri."

Fury passed through him. So that traitorous witch had chosen to inflict even more damage. "I should have known."

The girl shuddered violently. "I'm sorry for what I've done."

He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Why are you in my house?"

"Would you kill to have them back?" she countered. He looked up and stared at her. He could see nothing but guilt.

"No. I'm not like you."

She flinched as though he slapped her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He studied. She was still trembling violently. "You're shaking," he found himself saying.

She stared at him.

"Don't move."

He heaved himself up and went downstairs and remembered what he saw his wife do a million times. He poured a bottle of apple cider into a pot and put it over the fire, and when it was warm, he put in it a mug and brought it up to the girl and handed it to her.

She stared at it blankly, so he elaborated. "My wife used to make it for my girls."

She looked up at him. "Aren't you going to turn me in? Or kill me?"

He considered the questions. "I haven't decided yet."

She stared at the drink, but the guilt didn't leave her face and she didn't drink it.

"What happens if I do?" he asked curiously.

"I flee," she answered, almost blankly, as if there was no other answer.

"And if they caught you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think about it."

There was silence and she set the hot cider aside. "I need to go," she said, her voice mechanical.

He felt his heart sink at the idea of being alone again. "Wait." This was surreal. The murderer of his daughter was here in this room with him, and he didn't want her to go.

She looked up at him, and he realized what it was. When Nilsine and Friga were young, their eyes were bright with joy and hope. Slowly, the cold air and damask life took away their bright eyes. But this girl – even through the guilt, her eyes shined. Not even sin could take it away from her.

"Stay," he asked quietly. "I can't take the silence anymore."

She relented and remained where she was. There was silence for a long moment, and Torbjorn hated it. "You're younger than Nilsine was."

The girl shrugged.

"Why did you become an assassin?"

"I was promised a family."

"Is that all you wanted?"

She nodded.

"Surely you could have found a home somewhere else."

She shook her head. "I tried. I joined the Companions, but I hated their methods. I enrolled in the College of Winterhold, but I wasn't good at much magic. I even joined the Thieves Guild, and I was good at it…but it wasn't really a family. There was a lot of anger there."

"How was the Dark Brotherhood different?"

She shrugged. "I don't want to talk about it with you," she said bluntly.

The silence stretched for a minute. "I heard you disappeared in a cave."

Her whole entire body jerked, as though shocked by lightening. "What, have you been following my progress?" she demanded, for the first time hostile.

He wasn't afraid of her. He had disarmed her, after all. "Everybody does. You're the Dragonborn."

"Don't ask me about that," she responded angrily.

He raised his eyebrows. "What happened?"

"Don't ask me about that," she repeated, but her eyes filled with fear. Something in the air changed, the way it does when panic is setting in.

He stared at her. "What happened?" he repeated.

Her pupils dilated, and her face turned blank. Was she going mad?

Three loud knocks slammed against the door and he looked toward the ladder that led downstairs. There was silence for a long moment before the Dragonborn made a strangled scream and buried her face in her hands.

There was a splintering sound and a moment later, Torbjorn realized the front door had been ripped from its hinges. A moment later, a tall man was there, in ebony armor. There was something beyond fury in his face.

"What did you do to her?" his voice was quiet, but horrible as he glared at the man. And then he dropped down to the Dragonborn's level, and tugged her hands away from her face.

A moment later, the girl made a strangled cry in a foreign tongue and threw her arms around the man's neck. He held her and then lifted her up and left the house.

Torbjorn stared after them as silence settled back over his ears.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

Odahviing's fingers stroked Emlen's hair. He was sitting in a chair, and she at his feet, her head pressed against the side of his knee. They were back in Hjerim. She kept her eyes closed, trying to focus on the way his fingers moved through her hair, rather than on the violent images that were still coursing through her mind.

Her body was beginning to feel lethargic and apathy was setting in. She was so tired. Why did horrible things keep happening? She defeated Alduin – couldn't she get a break!? Couldn't she have it easy? No. She got tortured by a Mage and now has to go on a crazy quest to defeat him, all the while dropping into panic attacks half the time. Couldn't she just sleep?

"Focus, Emlen."

Odahviing's voice broke through the stupor and brought her back. She couldn't fall. She wouldn't.

She'd fight for him.

Emlen lifted her head to look up at him. His fingers moved to touch her cheek. His eyes were warm and gentle.

She dropped her head, trying to fight through the haze and figure out to do next. Unconciously, her hand reached up and brushed against his. He caught it and held on.

Her vision cleared and the fog swept away and Eleutherius was in the past once more.

"Do you think Shatter-Shield is the murderer?" Odahviing asked, directing her to the first step.

She shook her head slowly. "No. No, I don't think he did it."

"Where must we go next, Emlen?" he asked her.

"Wuunferth," she answered.

"I believe that is the best idea," he agreed. "Can you stand?"

She nodded and he stood and helped her stand. Her knees gave out and she fell forward, right into his chest. He caught her easily, and she remained there, leaning into him for a long moment. Then she stood on her own. It was time to move.

The cold air outside bit her face, but it woke her and gave her strength. She shook her head and with Odahviing at her side, returned to the Palace of the Kings.

Wuunferth looked at her expectantly but she shook her head. "Not him," she said simply.

The mage scowled. "Our only suspect. Did you happen to catch any other leads?" At the shake of her head, he sighed. "Then we have one option. We must draw the killer out. Tell me, Emlen…are you willing to be bait?"

Emlen stared at him blankly, not understanding for a long moment. But Odahviing grasped her shoulder tightly and stared down Wuunferth. "You are not placing her in harm's way."

Emlen blinked. "That might actually work." Odahviing tensed and she shook his hand off and turned to him. "No, listen! I'm better bait than anyone – anyone working with Eleutherius is bound to go straight at me! Look, you can follow a little ways away in the dark with a bow and arrow, and if anyone attacks, you can take them out."

"Then it's settled!" Wuunferth declared.

Emlen refused to argue with Odahviing until she had bought a new glass bow (she was _not_ going after her ebony one), and dragged him into Hjerim for target practice, which consisted of Odahviing missing a lot and arguing a lot.

"Damn it, woman, how foolish are you?!"

"I'm not foolish! Now, aim higher."

"What if Eleutherius is there?"

"What if he is? You'll be right behind me. You won't fail, right?"

"That's beside the point. Stupidity has no excuse."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Yes."

"You're the one who can't hit the target."

"Silence, woman."

"Well, regardless of whether you're following me or not, I'm leaving tonight."

"…"

Two hours later, Emlen was dressed in an ordinary green and brown dress, with no weapon or armor. If she was attacked, it fell upon Odahviing's sporadic archery skills and her own hand-to-hand abilities to protect her.

The streets of Windhelm were dark and cold. Emlen was surprised that she couldn't hear Odahviing following her from whatever distance he preffered, which was more likely to be closer than farther. She simply walked through the streets, trying to look as innocent and defenseless as possible.

An hour passed. And then another.

And then an arrow pierced Emlen's shoulder an inch deep and poison shot through her veins, and she hit the ground, unconscious.

Somewhere in between Odahviing seeing her fall and reaching her, her body disappeared. Emlen was gone.

* * *

**A/N: Once, a year or two ago, I read a certain fanfiction. It was good at first...but the problem was, the epic antihero who was supposed to be dark and mysterious and kick-butt kept getting hurt. Broken legs and fevers and bullets to the heart. And the entire story he was whining and in pain, and it drove me crazy.**

**I can only hope I haven't done that to my character. She has a lot of problems left over, but this won't last. Don't give up on me or Emlen. Next chapter marks the turning point.**

**Thank you for reading.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: So, that was the most boring apocalypse ever. Congratulations on surviving! And Merry almost Christmas! Or Hanukkah. Or Kwanzaa. Or Yule. Whatever you celebrate. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Reviews make me happy.**

_Chapter 14_

Emlen opened her eyes, but her vision was hazy. Her shoulder burned. Her hands were bound behind her back and she was gagged.

She struggled with the bonds for a long moment before giving up and trying to figure out where she was. Her vision adjusted quickly. It was a cellar of sorts, damp and cold. There was an empty fireplace across from her. Musty barrels all around, a few shelves and old crates. She was tucked into a corner beside stairs that led to a door.

The door opened and she winced against the light that flooded in. The door closed with a bang and she looked up at the man coming down the stairs. He was familiar. Bearded, blue robed… She should have known.

"Suppose you didn't suspect, young Dragonborn," Wuunferth said.

He reached her and lit a fire spell in his hand, illuminating his face ominously. He knelt down and brought the fire dangerously close to her face. "Don't worry. I've sent word to Eleutherius. He's coming to pay you a visit."

A string of profanities poured from her throat, caught and muddled against the gag. Red was beginning to cloud her vision. She'd never been so mad.

But she wasn't scared.

She was trapped in a cellar by a man who had no aversion to harming her, with her worst nightmare coming for her, and she wasn't scared. Her whole entire being was consumed with anger. Anger at this man for tricking her, trapping her, lying to her.

Wuunferth laughed and extinguished the flames, dropping her into momentary darkness before her eyes adjusted. "I hope you are comfortable," he said and then stood and walked up the steps and opened the door. "I will return in one hour, Dragonborn. You will remain in this place, and you will not try to escape. You will obey me, Emlen." And then he left.

Her whole entire body gave a horrible shudder as fear made it's way in. _Obedience _had been something Eleutherius had drilled into her, with force and anger and pain and a lot of other things. Anything to mess with her mind, to break her, to force her to obey his ultimate command – _shout_.

She lifted her face to the sky that wasn't there and breathed. She bit the gag in her mouth for a long moment. And then she looked down. It took a total of five minutes to calm herself. The anger hinted at her again, but she forced herself to focus.

She looked around the room for anything to help her – there was always something to help, in every situation. Whether a lucky coincidence, or a work of the gods, or a few Daedric Lords messing with fate to keep her around for comical reasons, there was always a way out.

And lo and behold, there was a rusty iron dagger discarded on a crate. It would be hard to reach, what with the height of it, and the inconvenient lock of her hands in the binds.

Breathe. Panic leaned in at the edges, but anger easily overpowered it.

Five minutes to slide across the floor, reach the dagger, and pull it down.

Five minutes to get the knife in a position she could cut at the ropes with.

Fifteen minutes and she was half-way through, but her wrists were raw and bleeding. Unwanted tears slipped down her face, but she didn't stop.

Fifteen more minutes and the rope broke and she reached up and yanked the gag out of her mouth.

Five minutes to rub her wrists, wipe her tears, breathe, and focus.

She forced herself up and ran to the door and shook the knob. It was locked.

Breathe.

Ten minutes searching unsuccessfully for a lockpick or anything to help her. The rusty dagger wouldn't help her much in a fight against a mage as strong as Wuunferth. On a shelf, she found a small intricate box. Inside was a piece of metal, similar to the one she found beneath the floorboards of Ysolda's house. But it did her no good now.

She heard movement outside of the door, and felt a swell of anger and panic rise like bile in her throat. A shovel lay on the floor and she grabbed it and hid in the same corner her left her in and waited. Not a moment passed before footsteps came down the stairs – and then she swung the shovel, and Wuunferth hit the ground, face-down.

He turned over onto her back and she was on top of him, the shovel pressed lightly against his throat. She didn't have to push hard – the threat was hard enough.

Wuunferth glared at her but didn't dare lift his hands to fight.

"Where are the other pieces?" she demanded.

He glared at her, before relenting. "Mercer Frey had one."

She was surprised. He was the former leader of the Thieves Guild, before he betrayed them all. The leadership of the guild had been passed to Emlen officially, but Brynjolf, another thief, was really leading them. He just didn't want the title.

She swallowed. "Why did you kill those girls?"

"Eleutherius wanted them to study," he answered. "I don't know why or what he got from them."

She gave an involuntary shudder. She should have known Eleutherius was really behind this. "Why do you work with him?"

Wuunferth looked as though he might fight. Emlen tensed and pushed down and he yielded. "Brothers."

"What?"

"Brothers, stupid girl. We were born to the same mother and father. We went to the college of Winterhold together, and then we parted ways. He came round recently with all of his plans."

Emlen stared at him, trying to process. This was unexpected. Absurd, really. Eleutherius didn't have a family. He wasn't once young. There was nothing in this world that could give him any sort of humanity. She wouldn't have it.

It would be easier if Wuunferth fought now. If he fired a spell, his death would be her defense. But he was at her mercy, and she had none.

Was killing a defenseless man as bad as killing an innocent?

She looked away. Her arms tensed. He let out a strangled cry. And then it was over.

She stepped over the body and grabbed the box with the piece of Anathema, and then she was out the door, into an abandoned house, and then free in the gray quarter.

Two minutes later, she found Odahviing and was wrapped in his arms. His hands were shaking but she didn't know why and he was holding her tighter than he ever had before and she didn't care because all that mattered was that he was here and she was with him.


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_

Ulfric Stormcloak was waiting for the Dragonborn.

He had to thank her for discovering Wuunferth the Unliving's treachery, after all.

Of course, if, in the meanwhile, he could convince her to join his war, join his side, than all the better.

He'd met her before. Sometime after she had defeated Alduin, she came around and caught the Butcher, and he met her. She was undeniably charming – beautiful and young and sweet.

He'd asked her to join his war – to fight for Talos, for the Nords, for freedom. She would not, insisting that she didn't want to be want to be involved in the war. All the while, pouring on charm, gentle and imploring and child-like. And she was so sweet, he relented and let her leave.

Only now did he realize her deception. She wasn't innocent – she had been deceiving him, he was more than certain. Reviewing her words and smiles over in his head, he could see something wrong in her eyes, something dishonest in her words. Maybe she was fearful he would make her an enemy if she denied his command. Either way, she had tricked him and he was not appreciative of the fact.

But her charm could be used to his advantage.

The Jarl of Whiterun's relationship with the Dragonborn did not escape him.

He'd been told by Eorlund Gray-Mane, one of his loyals in Whiterun, of the situation, through a letter. _He treats her as nothing less than a daughter. He cares for her like one of his own, and he does not hide it. In the times that I have seen, he does not hesitate to embrace the girl, nor praise her for her accomplishments._

The Dragonborn was a key pawn in this war. More than a pawn, she was the Queen.

Her title as Dragonborn would inspire his soldiers, and induce fear in his enemies.

Her beauty as a young woman would entice his men to fight their best, to prove themselves to her.

Her Voice and strength would win him battles.

And her charm would give him Whiterun.

The doors swung wide and in came the Dragonborn. Accompanied by a man. Which was not good at all. A woman with a consort was not so inspiring as a woman on her own.

"Welcome, Dragonborn," he greeted her as she reached him, guarding himself from her guile.

Her body was slumped slighty and her eyes were tired but she drew herself up and grinned a small sweet smile. "Thank you, Jarl Ulfric."

He smiled in return, letting her think he was charmed. "Young Dragonborn, I wish to thank you for the services you have done for my city."

She nodded. "I wouldn't have done anything less."

Something cold reached him, and he thought there might have been a draft, until he realized he was cold more on the inside than out. His eyes flicked over to the man at her side. His stare was impassive – but there was no denying the cold aura pouring from him. There was something inhuman about this man.

Ulfric returned his gaze to the Dragonborn. "You do wish to protect people, don't you? Perhaps you wish to end the war as well."

She laughed slightly. "If it was in my power, I would. But I will not participate in the bloodshed."

"Even for a greater cause? There is only one way to end the bloodshed."

She shook her head, still smiling gently, but her eyes were starting to get annoyed. "I've told you before, remember? I really can't get involved."

"Dragonborn, I will give you a choice."

As soon as his eyes darkened, so did hers. The smile fell from her face and the air grew colder. The man by her side moved ever slightly closer to her.

"You are either with us," he continued. "Or against us."

She stared at him, eye-to-eye for a long moment. "I am not with you." And then she turned and headed for the doors with her consort.

"Guards, apprehend the traitors!"

The Dragonborn and her consort stopped and pulled out their weapons – the Dragonborn, a dagger, the man, a greatsword.

His guards hesitated, knowing who the woman was and the danger she presented.

The woman turned around and the man stayed at her back. She looked Ulfric in the eye. "Are you a fool? Are you an actual fool?"

"I am no fool, Dragonborn."

Something changed in her eyes. She didn't look angry – she looked murderous. Unhinged. "I've already played my part in your war. Leave me be."

He stared at her and he didn't want to know the answer but he asked anyway. "Which part?"

She clutched the dagger tighter and for a moment the anger left her eyes and he had the vision of a child on the edge of a cliff, looking up at him and begging him not to let her fall, and there was no deceit there. But then, he knew she had fallen.

"I am Listener of the Dark Brotherhood and I killed the Emperor."

Silence and tension filled the air and it lasted a lifetime.

"Stand down," he commanded his guards quietly. He looked at her. "Don't return to my city."

"Gladly," she hissed in return. And then she and her consort were gone.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_

Emlen felt dirty.

Wasn't confession supposed to be cleansing?

She confessed her worst sin to one of the most powerful men in Skyrim. And everybody else who was watching, including the most important person to her. Shouldn't she feel as though she left the darkness behind? She didn't feel that way at all.

She hadn't said a word to Odahviing since they left, but he followed her without a word. She simply walked without end, following the river to wherever it lead, as long as it was out of sight of Windhelm.

In a few hours, the whole of the nation could be coming for her, baring teeth, ready to execute her. She wasn't so afraid of dying. But who else would stop Eleutherius? Had she just sentenced the world to death alongside her? Would she have any chance to escape? Would it matter?

Maybe she should just go to Riften. Hurry up. She didn't have time to waste. But she didn't care.

She finally stopped. There was nothing but white snow, a softly moving river, and her. And the man behind her.

"How far will you run, Dovahkiin?"

His voice was not angry nor accusing. Merely curious.

"However far I have to," she answered vaguely, still not daring to look at him. She didn't want to see what was in his eyes.

"And what happens when you can run no farther?"

She had no answer to give. She couldn't think through her thoughts – they were crashing, violent waves upon a beach and she couldn't stand any longer. She fell to her knees and collapsed in on herself, curling forward and there was too much fear and pain to feel shame.

Would the moutains shake, would an avalanche pour over her? Would there be nothing left but the weight of a thousand tons of snow, white, and her breathing until it ended? Would the gods be so kind?

She heard the heavy tread of Odahviing's boots reach her and he stood over her for a long moment. He could have left her there and she would have never stood again.

She heard his steps carrying farther and farther away and she began to cry silently. Had he decided she was hopeless? Had he chosen to continue without her, to solve this problem and leave her to die? Death didn't scare her, but losing him did. Maybe she hadn't known that before. But she did now.

Nevertheless, if he was going to leave her, she wouldn't chase after him. She would die here if he wanted her to.

She lost track of time, of where his steps had led, and she was so afraid, but she didn't dare look up.

Her body was shaking when he returned to her. She couldn't stop an audible sob from escaping her when she heard his steps come back.

He did something a few feet away and she didn't know what it was until, "_Yol._"

She could feel a fire blazing, the heat warming her and she began to sob harder. And she thought he was going to leave her.

She heard him kneel down in front of her and his fingers reached forward and grazed her shoulder. She couldn't stop herself. She threw herself into his arms.

He grasped her, and she buried her face into his neck, sobbing openly. "I thought you had left me," she choked out painfully.

"Now, Emlen," he murmured, adjusting her so she sat in his lap, her face still buried against his neck. "You have quite a lot to learn, don't you?"

There was nothing but patience from him, and so there she fell asleep.

* * *

The water was freezing.

_Foolish girl._

Odahviing's words echoed in her mind, but she wasn't hurt and he wasn't angry. Just annoyed in the same way he always was when she did something particularly careless.

She didn't mind. She thought he was funny. She had laughed at him while she pulled off her armor and she did not miss the way his eyes appreciatively raked over the bare skin that wasn't covered by her thin chemise. It made her feel strange, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

She swam along the bottom of the river, relishing in the silence that came, in the darkness beneath the water. It was cold and calm and painful and beautiful. It was lovely.

She didn't want to emerge. She wanted to let the water wash away her responsibilities. She wanted to float away with the current and never breathe again. But there was that one thing pulling her to the surface. She dragged herself back to the shore.

* * *

She awoke the next morning wrapped in strong arms. He had laid with her on their single bedroll, in nothing but loose white pants, the undergarments beneath his armor.

It was incredibly dangerous to sleep in the wilderness without armor. They didn't care.

She didn't want to leave her spot tucked against the body of a man whom was hers. She felt his body stir as he woke and one large hand ran down the side of her body, to her hip, where it rested for a long moment and felt so wrong and so right.

And then he moved away and stood and pulled his armor on, and, resigned that safe moments would never last, she stood and pulled on her own.

"Where next?" he asked her.

"Riften. The Thieves Guild."

"Then let us make haste. Time will not wait for us."

There was something in his voice that told her that he did not scold her. That he wished time would halt and they could simply _be_.

But they couldn't. The world was calling for them. She gathered her thoughts. It was time for her to return to the Thieves Guild.

* * *

**A/N: If you haven't yet seen, Eleutherius' back story is up, under the title of _Black Skies. _It is rated M for mature themes. There isn't anything explicit. There is a trigger warning at the beginning. I felt if a trigger warning was necessary, so was a mature rating.**

**I am currently working on Emlen's back story. Be on the look out for it.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Emlen's back story will be entitled _Bright Eyes. _It is, so far, way longer than I originally imagined. It's nearly twenty pages. ****And I don't even think I'm half done.** It will be split into a small amount of long chapters for posting._  
_

**Noting how long it might take (another month, tops), I figured I'd work on the main story as well to keep the chapters coming.**

_Chapter 17_

Feet scraped against the stone road. Leaves rustled. A few small animals could be heard crawling about. It was peaceful, and as close to quiet as it could be when walking through the Rift.

Odahviing was content with Emlen walking so close to him, glad for the sense of calm their surroundings gave her. She seemed perturbed since yesterday, since she'd confessed to being the leader of the Dark Brotherhood. He supposed that wasn't so strange – she had been distressed ever since she had first been taken.

He wouldn't admit it to her, but he was impressed by her standing in such a guild. To think his sweet girl was an assassin of such renown. It was curious.

_"AGHHHHHH!"_

Emlen drew her glass bow and strung an arrow in a single fluid motion, looking around for the source of the noise. Odahviing unsheathed his sword.

A small body burst out of the bush and fell forward, immediately followed by an oversized wolf. The gray beast was easily half as tall as Emlen. An arrow to its skull ended the chase abruptly.

The small body was nothing less of a very young boy with dark hair. He looked up right at Emlen and declared, "Hey, I know you!"

Emlen stared at him for a good long moment. Then she returned the bow and arrow to their place. She walked forward without a word, picked the boy up, dusted off his clothes in an absurdly mothering way, and then brought her hand against his backside with such force, he fell back over.

"Aventus Aretino," she snapped. "Exactly _what _do you think you're doing out here?"

He flipped around and looked at her with wide eyes. "Uh, just heading back to uh, the orphanage – I thought, uh, it was a good… Are you going to kill me?"

She crossed her arms. "I haven't been contracted to do so."

"Heh, well that's good. I guess. Uh. Just going to, uh–"

"The orphanage, yes. And you thought it would be a good idea to just head out on your own?"

He shrugged.

She slapped his face lightly. "Stupid child."

He shrugged sheepishly.

Emlen scowled. She turned to Odahviing. "This is Aventus Aretino," she gestured to the boy. "He will be joining us on our journey to Riften, to avoid getting mauled by any other wolves." She turned back to the boy. "Aventus, this is Hunter."

Aventus gave a little wave. Odahviing raised his eyebrows. Aventus shrugged. "Is he another assassin?"

She shook her head. "No, he's just a friend."

"Hey! Instead of going to the Orphanage, you can take me to your Dark Brotherhood top secret base. I can be an assassin too!"

"Children can't be assassins." She appeared amused for a moment. "Never mind. You're going to the Orphanage."

He sighed in defeat. "Fine."

* * *

The child was a pile of chaos. He never stopped talking, pointing out everything he saw around him, and was nearly always getting into some kind of trouble. He managed to make a fox attack. Foxes never attack.

There was something about Emlen that changed around the child. She was harsh to him, but in a strangely kind way. He didn't seem bothered about her severe manner – rather it seemed to ease him. He would pull back when he had to, stay relatively calm and controlled. He asked a lot of questions to her. Eventually, he turned the questions on Odahviing.

"Why are you so tall?"

"Why are you so short?"

"Why are you named Hunter?"

"Hunter is a very logical name, child. Aventus doesn't make any sense at all."

"Yeah it does!"

"I'm sure."

"Why is the sky blue?"

"The exact same reason the grass is green."

"But why is that?"

"I already answered that question."

"No, you didn't."

"You ought to pay more attention."

"I am paying attention!"

"Then, tell me, why is the sky blue?"

"Emlen, Hunter confuses my head."

Emlen's laugh was light and sweet. She gave Odahviing a look that made him smile back without even realizing it. Dragons can't smile.

* * *

Night was falling so they made camp. Emlen spread out her bedroll for Aventus. They lit a fire. Aventus was incredibly impressed by Odahviing's way of lighting the fire. He begged to be taught. Emlen scolded him to leave Odahviing alone.

Aventus sat without talking for a while, which was odd. Odahviing watched his eyes grow darker and darker until they spilled over with tears.

Emlen moved close to the boy. "What's wrong, Aventus?"  
"I miss my ma."

Emlen picked Aventus up and sat him in her lap. She rocked back and forth gently. He cried into her chest. She began to sing.

_"There is a castle on a cloud. I like to go there in my sleep. Not any floors for me to sweep. Not in my castle on a cloud."_

Odahviing had never heard her sing, nor had he heard anything so lovely. Her voice was clear and sweet and pure, like water in a spring.

_"There is a lady all in white. Holds me and sings a lullaby. She's nice to see and she's soft to touch. She says, 'My dear, I love you very much.' I know a place where no one's lost. I know a place where no one cries. Crying at all is not allowed. Not in my castle on a cloud."_

The child fell asleep in her lap. Odahviing came to her and and lifted him and carried him to the bedroll. He covered him up and returned to his girl.

They wound up leaning back against an old log, the topmost of his armor off so she could lay her head on his shoulder. "Where'd you meet that little boy?" he asked.

"After I took care of the Butcher – the first one – Jorlief asked me to help with one other thing. There were rumors floating around of a boy performing the Black Sacarment – the ritual to call upon the Dark Brotherhood. I hadn't joined them yet.

"I went in to his home in Windhelm and found him there – he thought I to be the assassin. He asked me to kill Grelod the Kind, the owner of the orphanage he was supposed to belong to. She was abusive and he seemed so desperate, so I agreed to do it for him."

"You didn't have a problem with killing an old woman?"

She shrugged a little bit and pulled away from him slightly. He found guilt in her eyes. "She was hurting little kids. And besides – she wasn't the first person I'd ever killed."

"Do not assume I would pass judgement on you," he murmured and she relaxed and resumed her position close.

"I killed her."

"And then?"

"I was…contacted by a member of the Dark Brotherhood. They invited me into their family. It was something I had been missing for a long time."

"What of the boy?"

"He didn't leave his house. I should have escorted him back myself but I was distracted by a whole lot of things. I guess he finally got bored enough to head back."

The story was finished and there wasn't much more to say, so they sat in silence, watching the fire flicker away. Odahviing's fingers ran through Emlen's hair, playing with it. She relaxed until he was certain she was asleep – and then she looked up, right at him. "Odahviing?"

"Yes, Emlen?"

She shifted and sat up and studied him for a good long moment. One hand reached up and touched his neck. She moved until their faces were and inch apart. She closed her eyes. And then she met his lips with her own. It only lasted the briefest amount of time.

The idea of such a thing was horribly foreign – logically irrational. But it felt simply natural, like it was the only right thing to do with this girl, this woman whom he cared about more than anything he'd ever cared for before. He pulled her back, and their lips met and moved and it grew and it lasted.

When it ended – and it took quite a while, because neither wanted to stop – she relaxed and resumed her place with her head on his shoulder and he held her and they slept.


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18_

The orphans at the orphanage were a lot happier with Grelod the Kind gone. Constance was incredibly nice to them. It was best that Grelod was dead.

Constance didn't seem to recognize Emlen as the murderer. Perhaps she was traumatized from the events and had blocked them. Perhaps she did recognize her, but had decided it was for the better as well.

The kids celebrated the return of Aventus and congratulated him on getting Grelod killed. Aventus complained about coming back however.

"Come on, can't I stay with you? You could adopt me! I could help you fight dragons!"

Emlen rustled his hair. "It's not safe out there – and it wouldn't be any fun either."

"It's not any fun here," he pouted.

She laughed. "Perhaps you've forgotten. Look at all your friends waiting for you. Enjoy your childhood. Play. You won't have to be afraid of getting hurt here."

He sighed. "You don't know what it's like to be an orphan. I'd rather adventure."

She knelt down and looked right in his eyes. "I have a secret for you, Aventus. I _am_ an orphan. My parents died when I was very young. I didn't enjoy my childhood. I ran, I adventured – and I got hurt, in a lot of ways. I lost part of me. You don't want to lose it too."

He looked a little bit ashamed of himself but he nodded. "I guess you're right. Maybe pretend adventures can be more fun. After all, I can at least _pretend _to be able to beat wolves."

She laughed. "That's the spirit!" And then she kissed him softly on the head.

He leaned in real close as though to tell her a secret. "You're awfully nice for an assassin."

She smirked. "Not everyone is quite as they seem."

The entrance to the Thieves guild was hidden in a tomb near the Hall of the Dead. A button pressed allowed the thief to descend into the Cistern below the city. It wasn't a pretty place, but it was home for a long time.

The majority of thieves here were male, so Emlen wasn't surprised when Odahviing moved a little bit closer. She didn't entirely understand the possessiveness that was there – after all, she wouldn't consider any of them. Perhaps he was not so used to self-control.

There was a chorus of shouts all along the lines of _'look who's back!'_

A tall man with red hair and a sweet accent came up to her and looked her up and down. "I thought I said I didn't want to lead this place." His tone was somewhere between disapproval and amusement.

She giggled guiltily and shrugged. "Ah, you know – the Dragonborn is always a little too busy."

He smirked and then scanned over Odahviing. "Come on, let's talk where there's a little more privacy – and you can introduce me to your friend."

Over at the 'official business' desk, where paperwork (who would have thought in a thieves den?) and trophies of honor were kept, Brynjolf brought them over and shooed away the rest of the thieves.

"I didn't think you took on partners."

She laughed. "Special case," she explained simply. "Hunter, Brynjolf. Byrnjolf, Hunter," she introduced. "I'm looking for something."

Bryjolf rolled his eyes. "Of course, you're not just here to help out."

"Oh, here," she said irritably, and dipped her hand into her bag. She felt around for a moment and then pulled out a handful of gems – garnets, rubies, emeralds, even diamonds – and poured them into his hand. "That should do it."

He laughed – a good hearty laugh. "All right, what are you looking for, lass?"

"Something of Mercer Frey's. It is probably in an intricate box. Inside is an obviously enchanted piece of metal. It's important."

He considered it for a long minute. "Yeah, I think we had something like that. Gave it to Tonilia to sell. Go ask her about it."

Emlen's heart fell. Tonilia was the fence – she could sell anything. Which meant they were about to go on a hunt.

Tonilia raised her eyebrows in greeting. Emlen immediately told her, "We're looking for something of Mercer's that you sold. It was in an intricate box."

"I did sell it. Sorry about that."

"Who bought it?"

"Hemming Black-Briar."

Hemming Black-Briar was the son of Maven Black-Briar. Maven unofficially controlled Riften, using ties to the Thieves Guild and (previously) the Dark Brotherhood, as well as her vast wealth, to enforce her influence over the city.

"All right," Emlen said. "I guess we better go get it."

Tonilia shrugged. "Send one of the thieves to go snatch it back.

Emlen considered that. It might not be the best option – what if there was failure? Besides, she could get it back herself.

Before Emlen could voice that, Tonilia said, "Or you can get it yourself. I can stay here with your friend…"

Emlen felt her whole body tense. Her hand went for her dagger without thinking, a snarl rose to her lips –

Odahviing's hand brushed her neck. "Let us go, Emlen. This Black-Briar must be dealt with."

She felt the anger leave as quick as it had come. "Of course," she stuttered out. Tonilia was staring at her in shock. She ignored it, and followed Odahviing out.

Odahviing had better self-control than she did.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize for the brevity of this chapter, and how long it took to get out. I've been dealing with writer's block. I suspect it's not a very good chapter, since I had to push through it. But you can be the judge of that.**

**I actually post this chapter in celebration of the first draft of _Bright Eyes_ being finished. It is 32 pages, and 15,475 words long. It will need much revision before it is ready to be posted, but we're getting there.**

**Occasionally, I feel like it is overkill for a back story. And then I remember, I don't care. Mostly, because it's pretty awesome. It features death, Cicero, old priests, random dance numbers (that's a lie), and romantic moments between Emlen and Odahviing.**

**Before I end this irritatingly long author's note, I'd like to ask if any of you have something you'd like to see in Bright Eyes or a question you'd like answered. **

**Thank you for the reviews, past and future!**


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19_

"Hello, Mr. Black-Briar. My friend and I have a proposition for you. It is a lucrative one – and simple, if you will allow it to be."

Hemming Black-Briar considered the pair. The girl was young, maybe younger than his daughter, Ingun. This young woman's eyes were bright and mischievous. She wore foreign armor, strange and dark. The man with her was clad in ebony, strong and tall and grim.

Whoever they were, lucrative deals only ever came from one source.

"You're with the Thieves Guild?"

"Sir, I _am _the Thieves Guild."

Hmph. Sounded like a con to him and he had no time to be dealing with this now. "I am far too busy for your games now. Shoo."

The girl smiled sweetly. "I haven't even told you the deal yet. You ought to cooperate – my friend can help you with that if you're having trouble."

The man was a threat, that much was clear, but Black-Briar was not one to be toyed with. "You may regret such words. But for now, let us see if we can negotiate a deal to benefit us all."

The girl nodded. "Excellent. Now recently, you bought from my fence, an item – a small intricate box, containing an enchanted piece of metal."

Black-Briar instantly tensed. "And?"

"And we want it back. We'll pay double what you paid – and if that's not enough, my associate would be happy to remove it from your being. I understand you keep it with you at all times."

Black-Briar's hand went inside his coat and he fingered his dagger. "Absolutely not. It is mine and I will keep it."

The girl laughed. "But you don't even know what it is!"

"And you do?"

"I'm afraid so." She reached into her back and procured a box just like his. He flinched away. She raised her eyebrows. "I'm a collector, you see. It is beneficial for me to have the box, and for you to have money. So, just hand it over and we can finish up here."

The tall man glowered at him. "Do as she says."

No! It was his, nobody else could have it! "You won't take it from me!"

The girl's eyes turned to pity. "Fine. But please, sit down and let me tell you a bit about the box."

He didn't sit, but he yearned for the information. "Go on."

She sighed heavily. "You see, the object is cursed. It feeds on the heart of whoever possesses it, and it takes them over. I know for a fact that for the past several weeks that you've had it, you've grown more agitated, more angry. This is true, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. Maybe some of my associates have been slacking later – if I've been angrier, it's their fault."

She smiled with sympathy, gave him a look as though to say _you poor fool_. "No, they never changed. It was you. And your daughter took the blunt of it. When did you last see her?"

He was becoming greatly offended. "You aren't implying that I'd hurt her? I never did!"

"When did you last see her?" she asked again firmly. Her 'friend' was blocking any method of escape.

"Two days ago," Black-Briar finally answered. "I sent her away because she spilled a potion on the ground."

"And what happened before that?"

Like a violent wave, a memory washed over him. "I didn't –"

"You struck her."

"I wouldn't!" But the memory was there. He had.

"You saw her yesterday too."

"No." He was certain he hadn't.

"The enchantment was taking over you – but she came back, she tried to apologize."

"That never happened!"

"You struck her."

"No!"

"You pulled your dagger on her!"

"NO!"

"Ingun is dead, Mr. Black-Briar! You killed her!"

He hit his knees. "I never…I couldn't have…"

"You did."

He began to sob. "Please, I never meant to…"

She knelt down and touched his face with her hands. "Of course you didn't. But the curse…it took you over. You've got to let it go."

He swallowed and reached into his coat pocket and procured the box. "Take it."

"Thank you."

* * *

"So, you think you'll be bothered by the curse?"

"Nah, probably not. And Hunter here will just knock some sense into me if I start acting crazy. Hey, that bruise is pretty nasty – you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine. And delighted about my father's torment."

"You are perfectly demonic."

"So where did you say to go?"

"Dawnstar. Once you're there, head north just a bit. You'll find a big rock formation, and there will be this strange door. It'll ask you a question. You remember the answer I told you?"

"Innocence."

"Innocence, _my brother_."

"Right."

"Then head in, and tell them the Listener sent you. Try not to let the jester attack you before then."

"There's a jester?"

"Yeah, don't ask. Anyway, find Nazir, tell your story, he'll think it's hilarious. Also, don't tell the kid she's cute, or treat her like a kid at all for that matter. She's a vampire."

"Nice. So, I'll see you soon?"

"I hope so. Bye, Ingun."

"Bye, Emlen."

* * *

Emlen knew she had no idea where to go next, but she didn't care. Right now, she was tucked into Odahviing's arms, lying flat on the ground in the wilderness, each just kind-of hanging onto the other. Night was sweeping around them, their armor was discarded, and the white garments that remain were thin and soft.

She watched the stars blink and smile. "Odahviing, you're very old, aren't you?"

"Yes, Emlen." His voice was always deep and smooth and gentle.

"So you know an awful lot?"

"I should hope so."

"Who put the stars in the sky?"

He didn't speak for a long time, though his fingers traced over her arm slowly, gently. Finally, he sat up, and she went with him and they looked at each other.

"For that, Emlen, I have no answer."

"Does anybody know?"

"I don't believe so."

She was slightly frustrated – and maybe he saw it on her face because a look of fondness entered his eyes and he held her and he kissed her.

The frustration slipped away. "I love you." The words came out of her mouth unbidden.

He pulled away and stared at her, and she couldn't read his eyes. _"Mahfaeraak dii. Su'um. Ul. Laas. Nid."_

"I don't ever understand you."

_"Nid rot fah grik brit faad."_

"Odahviing…"

"The dragons have no words for such feelings."

"Have they never felt it?"

"They never had need to voice it."

"Why?"

"Because if it was there, they knew."

"I don't understand."

"How can you not understand? There is nothing to understand at all. Of course, I love you. There is nothing else."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: _The Last Rose of Summer_ is a traditional folk song written by Thomas Moore.**  
**I might have discovered what's worse than writer's block - finishing a chapter that you like, but not enough to post it and you don't want to delete it so it just sits there. Thus this chapter went through three complete re-hauls. Sorry it took so long. Also, crappy image of Anathema in pieces in a link on my profile.**

* * *

_Chapter 20_

Emlen was left empty, with no leads and no direction. She knew they should keep moving, but she had no idea where to go. Instead, she followed Odahviing through the burning rift, the colors swaying and keeping her mind clear and free. A creek was slipping by, folding over pebbles, leading fallen leaves far away from their homes. Birds were discovering a melody hidden in their throats and letting it disappear into the sky. And best of all, Odahviing was telling stories.

"You know of the Dragon Priests, I assume?"

"Of course. I've had to kill a few."

"They were gods among men. Chosen not only for their loyalty, but for their intelligence and ambition. Those loyal few who were not chosen as Dragon Priests joined their army. They burned down towns that displayed rebellion. They killed many."

"Did any dragons stand against the killings?"

"No," he answered shamelessly. "Some disagreed with the treatment of humans – like Parthunaax. But none did anything at all."

"Were there any Priestesses?"

"Back then, women weren't seen as equal to men. They were inferior beings. They were meant for nothing but beauty and childbearing. They were not seen as equal until the rebellion against the dragons rose and the women grabbed swords and charged into battle alongside men. Even now, some of the old traditions of not educating women and treating them as objects carries on, but women have a greater chance of escaping that.

"But women did have a purpose to the dragons. Some dragons would take a single woman as a sort of trophy. If they saw a woman that was particularly beautiful, they would take her away."

"Just like that?"

"There may have been a ceremony of some kind. It was a long time ago, I do not remember."

"Oh. How old were the women?"

"Young, always. I believe the oldest taken was thirty. The youngest – six."

"Six years old? Who was she?"

"I do not know. I only heard of her."

"Oh."

"There was an eight year old that I met."

"What happened to her?"

"She was like a bird – she had a wonderful singing voice. The dragon who took her made her sing. She grew tired. Maybe she believed she was a bird. Maybe she believed she could fly."

"What do you mean?"

"It matters not. I saved her."

"Really?"

"Indeed. I brought her to a cave and hid her and she gave me a song. And for that song, I set her free, far away from the dragon who had taken her."

"What became of her?"

"I don't know."

"Oh. Do you remember her name?"

"Rhoslyn."

"What was the song about?"

"A rose."

"Do you remember it?"

"No."

"You don't seem to remember much of it. I thought dragons had better memory?"

"Perhaps. But some things shouldn't be remembered."

Emlen stared at Odahviing, feeling a little petulant. He wasn't telling her the whole truth. All these I-don't-remember's. He remembered, she was sure, and he wasn't telling her. He stopped and turned to her and stepped very close and she felt small as one finger brushed away a few strands of hair.

His finger gently traced her lip, and she closed her eyes, and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him –

And then the world slipped away under her feet and she fell.

She opened her eyes to find herself leaning against a tree. Odahviing was gone, as was most of everything. There was only she and two trees. The rest was nothing but empty white space.

She looked closer at the tree a little ways away. There was a little girl sitting on a few of the branches. She was very young and very lovely. She looked at Emlen, and she opened her mouth and she sang.

"_Tis the last rose of summer  
__Left blooming all alone  
__All her lovely companions  
__Are faded and gone."_

Emlen lost sight of what was in front of her as images flashed through her mind. The little girl stood on a peak of a mountain, shivering as snow fell around her. Not far from her was a dragon, anger in his eyes.

"_No flower of her kindred.  
__No rosebud is nigh  
__To reflect back her blushes  
__Or give sigh for sigh."_

The little girl turned to stare off the mountain, at the sky. Little feet in threadbare shoes took a few steps towards the edge.

"_I'll not leave thee thou lone one  
__To pine on the stem.  
__Since the lovely are sleeping.  
__Go sleep thou with them."_

Then the little girl was in a cave, fear in her eyes as she faced a great, red, familiar dragon.

"_Thus kindly I scatter  
__Thy leaves o'er thy bed  
__Where thy mates of the garden  
__Lie scentless and dead."_

But the dragon's eyes changed from angry to gentle as he came close to the tired girl.

"_So soon may I follow  
__When friendships decay  
__And from Love's shining circle  
__The gems drop away."_

And then she was on his back as he flew and landed her in a place far away, in Cyrodil.

"_When true hearts lie withered  
__And fond ones are flown –  
__Oh, who would inhabit this bleak world alone?"_

Emlen stared at the little girl as the images faded away.

"Are you Rhoslyn?" she asked quietly.

"I was."

"What became of you?"

"I died. But on the positive side, I was quite old when that happened."

"Why have you brought me here?"

"To teach you."

"What… Are you going to tell me what Odahviing kept from me?"

The girl laughed. "Why do you think he kept it from you?"

Emlen shifted uncomfortably. "He doesn't think I'm strong enough to handle it."

The child laughed once more. "Is that it? Goodness, if he didn't think you were strong, he wouldn't let you ever fight. No, he tells the truth. Some things aren't meant to be remembered."

"So, he really didn't remember?"

"He could if he wanted to… Dragons are never good, Emlen, not by man's standards. They are not kind-hearted or generous. They are selfish and cruel. Parthunaax was terrible, but he had a hint of pity in his heart for the poor humans. Odahviing was always heartless – except when it came to very small things. Not like rabbits, but young things. It always bothered him when little girls were taken by the dragons. He shouldn't have cared, but he did. Not enough to ever do anything about it – but he would sometimes come and watch when I sang, and I could tell in his eyes it troubled him."

"Didn't he do anything about it? Didn't he set you free?"

"He would have had to kill the dragon that had me. And he wasn't willing to do that. Not until…until I ran away."

"It must have been hard."

"No. It was really easy… but Odahviing stopped me and took me away. And he said he'd kill the dragon and keep me. He promised he'd take care of me. But I begged him to let me go."

"He did say yes, didn't he?"

"No. He said he would let me go only if I could give him something in return. I had nothing with me, no coin or jewel or flower. So instead, I offered him a song."

"Did he accept it?"

"He did. My freedom was worth much more than a song, but the song was enough to let me go. I told him I knew I hadn't entirely paid him back. I would in another time."

"How?"

"That's a secret."

Emlen considered this. "Couldn't you help us – couldn't you tell us where the next piece of Anathema is?"

The little girl looked to the ground and played with a crackling leaf. "Yes. There will be a note on the strongest."

"What?"

"Not that it will matter anyway. But at least you tried."

"What are you going on about?"

"Of course, you already have the answer. Odahviing himself is the proof of that."

"I don't understand."

"The ritual must happen on the first of Rain's Hand."

"The first of – that's in two weeks!"

"Two weeks. But worry about this moment. I've sent your friend and he will help you find your soul again."

Emlen shook her head, not understanding. "Please, explain what you mean."

The little girl looked up, right at Emlen's eyes. "You ought to wake up."

Emlen opened her eyes to see Odahviing, touching her face, concern in his eyes. She was on the ground. "What-?"

"You fell. Are you well?"

She pushed herself up into a sitting position to look around – but as she rose, so too did many others.

They were surrounded by no less than a hundred necromancers.


End file.
